


Give and Take

by meshkol (ashernorton), PjCole



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Bruises, Choking, Come Marking, Comeplay, Consensual Somnophilia, D&H, Degradation, Dom Steve Rogers, Dry Orgasm, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fucking Machines, Humiliation, Kneeling, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Sub Tony Stark, Subspace, Unconscious Sex, Unconsciousness, d/s dynamics, oversensitivity, rough anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 06:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PjCole/pseuds/PjCole
Summary: Tony’s tired and stretched thin, throat aching from talking and yelling, running off too-little sleep and too much anxiety and pressure, and he just wants tobreathe.He needs to let it all out, release all the tension from putting on this controlling and impenetrable mask, needs to—he just needsSteve.Steve is the only sane thing in Tony’s world, the only thing that makes a lick of sense in this mad existence, and maybe neither one of them had expected family or stability in their extraordinary and traumatic lives, but they’ve found their unique version of it in each other regardless.For the MCU Kink Bang 2019 onao3andtumblr.





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> A kink bang: two of my favourite things, combined into one deliciously depraved dessert for my simultaneous reading and writing pleasures! Ridiculously excited to be posting this for the 2019 MCU Kink Bang. Merci beaucoup for putting on this non-traditional and nonsensically fun bang, and for allowing me to participate.
> 
> I had the pleasure to write for the unbelievably talented [PjCole](http://pjcole.tumblr.com/), who created the art embedded in the fic itself (as well as encouraged my horribly depraved brain when it inevitably went from 100 to 9,000 in about three seconds flat). I hope the final product is not a colossal disappointment, and that you enjoy it just as much as I enjoyed (and loved) the art you submitted.
> 
> Three cheers for my three beta readers: [Moki](https://ssironstrange.tumblr.com/), [Athletiger](https://la-toratempesta.tumblr.com/), and [Hazel](https://llama-asses.tumblr.com/). You all made this piece of filth readable and coherent, and I am so ridiculously humbled and awed for your help in getting this into posting shape. Eternal thanks. Any additional errors that are undoubtedly littered through this fic are on me alone, probably because I got some bright idea at the last minute or simply went insane.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy 20k+ of face-fucking (plus some other stuff), and happy reading!

Tony wakes up like he always does these days: drenched in sweat and all but vibrating from fear.

He jolts upright, panting and disoriented, eyes darting around as he frantically tries to place himself. When his fuzzy brain focusses long enough to register _penthouse-Stark Tower-safesafesafe_ instead of empty space and dead bodies, a process that seems to take eons instead of seconds, he huddles into himself, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around his legs, fighting to regulate his breathing and heart pounding madly beneath his ribs.

No matter how long it’s been since Iron Man first flew, no matter how long he’s been flying around the world in a tin can, no matter how long he’s been playing at being a superhero, no matter how long he’s had to acclimate and compartmentalise the things he’s done and the things he knows are coming, the nightmares don’t stop. He’s honestly not sure if they ever will, because the fight never stops and he’s incapable of letting go of Iron Man even if it does.

He buries his damp forehead into the soft flannel of his pyjama bottoms, not bothering to mask his gasping breaths or the shivers that he still feels, cold-cold-cold and all alone in the vast chasms of deep space, because he’s alone here too. While FRIDAY is present as she always is, she’s still young and learning Tony’s quirks and appropriate responses to Tony’s nightmares, and she hasn’t quite developed JARVIS’s penchant of butting in (if she ever does). Tony’s not sure if he appreciates the lack of her voice or wishes that she was talking him down like JARVIS always used to, and it’s an odd juxtaposition. JARVIS had always been quick to help him breathe, help Tony recalibrate his surroundings as real in the wake of another nightmare, whereas FRIDAY still obeys the parameters of her baseline code: _don’t fucking bother me until I leave my private quarters unless I explicitly ask for you_.

The nightmares aren't as bad when Steve’s around, even if they never really go away. It had been the same with Pepper in some ways, but Steve feels safer than Pepper ever had, and for obvious reasons – Pepper’s always been a civilian, always been removed from the realities of what Tony’s twenty-four/seven job demands of him, but Steve _knows_. He knows what it feels like to do this job, to have such responsibility on their shoulders constantly, to always be afraid of what they’re capable of and what horrors are coming next. Steve can sympathise _and_ empathise, and never looks at Tony like he’s broken or damaged because Steve’s suffering through the same things as Tony.

Plus he has the added bonus of being a super-soldier with inhuman reflexes, so it’s not like Steve will ever be in danger of a triggered suit in the middle of the night.

But Pepper’s been gone for two years now, back to being his best friend and closest confidant, and Steve’s somewhere in Bulgaria, tracking down yet another lead on Barnes and not scheduled to be back for about a week. The only people in this tower are SI employees and FRIDAY, and they’re not going to be bothering him until he meanders his way out of his private quarters with a thermos of coffee and his well-worn mask in place.

He finally uncurls himself once he feels like he’s stopped shaking out of his skin – mostly – and his breathing is regulated, chest still aching from hyperventilating. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, shivering slightly from the cool air against his damp skin, and then sighs loudly, wrestling up the mental fortitude to get out of bed to start his day. Not that he wants to do _that_ either; the only things on his docket are meetings, more meetings, and even more meetings, and the only interference with that bureaucratic necessity is a call to arms (even though he’s only a consultant for the Avengers, yet again), and that itself just feeds into more nightmares and guilt.

He forces himself to leave the damp cocoon of his bed so he can shower and prepare his public façade for the corporate vultures.

* * *

There’s a snafu from the government about his energy generating plan, as to be expected.

Capitalist drones, always getting in the way of good deeds – Tony kind of wishes that he could just flee for his own sanity’s sake, leaving all the nonsense and finagling to the viciously spectacular Pepper Potts, but he knows he can’t. For one, Pepper would have his testicles in a diamond-encrusted pendant around her neck if he took off now, and he’s also the major shareholder and the head of Stark Industries, so while he’d very much like to throw the board to the sharks, he knows he’s the only one that can put his foot down with any modicum of confidence and demand they follow his orders. Anyone else, Pepper included, would be steamrolled by the government, and he’s the only one with the capital to dig his heels in.

He’s so _tired_ though. Tired of the bureaucratic dance of politicians and businessmen, tired of the red tape, so fucking tired of being in _charge_ all the time. He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to grasp that all he wants is to deliver nearly-free, sustainable power to every home and business and gadget in the world, that all he wants is for people’s _lives_ to be just a little bit better. They have the technology, and most of the infrastructure in place – all it’ll take is some upgrades to the existing global grid, which SI will pay for with the respective government’s surplus if available, a few more plants being built for non-electrical energy like batteries and hand-held devices, and then boom! Sustainable, affordable energy for every home, every business, down to powering televisions and vehicles and remote controls and microchips. The amount of money they’ll make by monopolising the energy market is frankly unbelievable, and they have to do _now_ , all over the world, all at once, because that’ll keep other corporations from reverse-engineering the product and keeping it from the little guy at an affordable rate.

He utterly refuses to ‘start with the United States then offer the same energy deal with anyone that agrees to our country’s terms’, as the government has demanded. _Fuck no_. Either no one gets it or everyone gets it, and he will not budge on that. Maybe it’s naïve to give it to every country, ‘good’ or ‘bad’, and he knows that America and NATO are collectively shitting their trousers at the idea, but he can’t allow some countries to benefit while others suffer. Especially since the tech will inevitably be reverse-engineered and used by every country around the world anyway. Better to offer it as a global olive branch, in Tony’s opinion.

He’s tired and stretched thin, throat aching from talking and yelling at various numbskulls, running off too-little sleep and too much anxiety and pressure, and he just wants to _breathe_. He needs to let it all out, release all the tension from putting on this controlling and impenetrable mask, needs to—he just needs _Steve_. Steve and Tony have their differences – _boy_ do they have their differences – but Steve is the only sane thing in Tony’s world, the only thing that makes a lick of sense in this mad existence. He needs Steve to take the reins so Tony can exhale all the bravado and dominance from this insane venture, because Tony needs a reset switch and he needs it badly before his brain starts leaking out of his ears. At the rate he’s going, he’s going to end up crawling into a dark corner to bawl like a baby from the strain, or even worse, dive to the bottom of a bottle, and he just...he just _needs_.

During a recess, he flees into a lavatory and locks himself inside after making sure it’s unoccupied, pulling out a laptop from his satchel with unsteady hands. He can’t stop _shaking_ , from desperation and too much caffeine and sleep deprivation, and it’s a miracle that he manages to manoeuvre his way through covert channels until he finds Steve’s information.

Steve’s in Slovenia now, for whatever reason, and completely off the grid outside of virtually untraceable communications networks (only to be used in the event that there’s an Avengers emergency). It’s not something Tony’s supposed to do, but he’s hanging on the last threads of his sanity here and besides, no one’s ever claimed that Tony has good impulse control.

He pulls up a log for an audio message, and once he’s got his own jammers and security up around the lavatory to make sure he’s not overheard, he activates the transmission and says in a low rasp, “I know I’m not supposed to do this, and I know that finding Bucky’s more important right now, but I just...when are you coming back? It’s—I know that these things take time, and that’s totally fine and all, but it’s been over two months now, and DUM-E was wondering when you were going to come home. And Romanoff is kinda hard on the kids. _And_ I think Wanda needs a hug and a movie night with her favourite super-soldier too, because she’s been moping around and Vision can only do so much, y’know? Gotta think about the kids, Cap, gotta look at—shit, I’m sorry, I’m rambling on a secure channel when it’s supposed to be for emergencies and this is the last thing you need right now with Bucky out there needing you by his side, but...I just miss you, okay? Sue me. Or don’t sue me, because the last thing I need right now is a lawsuit on top of everything else that’s going on. At this rate, the fucking United Nations is going to sue me.” He takes a deep breath, exhales shakily, and mumbles through the large surge of embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry Steve. I just really miss you and I know that’s not important right now because Bucky’s the priority, but I just needed to...I don’t know. Let me know you’re okay and still on the hunt for your BFF and not dead in a ditch somewhere, okay? You were only supposed to be gone for two weeks and it’s been ten, and I can’t hack into SHIELD to find out your status anymore.” He closes his eyes, trying to stop blabbering like an idiot, and then whispers, “I love you, Steve. So fucking much. I’ll see you when I see you, okay? Please don’t be dead.”

He hangs up before he’s tempted to keep rambling, one of his worst character traits by far as he’s been told over multiple decades, and slides to the floor of the lavatory, head between his knees and feeling so damn weak that his father’s probably rolling in his grave.

* * *

It’s Sunday, which means the entire world shuts down.

Tony doesn’t believe in an omnipotent God, even though he knows beings that are self-proclaimed gods – Thor is quite adamant, but Tony thinks Thor’s full of shit even if he loves that boisterous dork – but even _he_ is about ready to skip happily into a chapel so he can thank the big dude upstairs for the reprieve from bureaucratic nonsense. It reminds him of that Harry Potter film that Vision had watched with a quiet Wanda and a grumpy Harley Keener: ‘ _no post on Sundays!_ ’ Except it’s ‘ _no business on Sundays!_ ’

He can get behind that kind of pragmatism if it means that he gets to dive into the mechanical guts of a something-or-another instead of sitting in another tense meeting. All hail the one true God and all that. Bless holy days, and here’s an unlimited cheque for services to mankind, God bless America.

He’s woken up from another nightmare, this time about Pepper falling and falling and falling and never getting back up, and after an hour of just laying in his drenched sheets, he starts dragging himself out of bed for coffee and engineering therapy. He dresses in shoddy clothes because it’s pointless to doll up before going to his workshop, and meanders into the kitchen. He forces himself to choke down a few triangles of toast that tastes like cardboard alongside his usual vat of coffee because he can already tell that he’s lost a few pounds over the past month when he looks at himself in the mirror. Steve’ll notice instantly, and Tony can’t even play the usual card of _too-busy-to-remember-food_ because he’s dealing with politicians and businessmen, and everyone knows that politicians and businessmen take frequent (and expensive) food breaks.

He’s halfway out the door, filled with a desperate desire for tinker-therapy, when FRIDAY chimes in her Irish lilt, “Boss, Captain Rogers is on th—”

“Patch him through,” Tony breathes out, heart thudding hard in his chest and feeling tight like a spring.

There’s a beat of silence as FRIDAY connects Steve’s call to the device lodged in Tony’s ear. It beeps to signal that a secure line is established, and then Steve says in his soothing, albeit tired rumble through the connection, “ _Hey Tony._ ”

Tony barely notices falling to his knees in pure, unadulterated relief at the sound of his voice, every iota of tension that he’s been suffering with for months flowing out of him like the opening of a dam. Tony’s eyes clench shut as he falls back onto his arse, back against the wall of the foyer to his penthouse, and he swallows thickly before he manages to reply as evenly as he can manage, “Hey babe. Been a while since I heard your voice.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Steve says with a sigh, dragging out the word. “ _It took a lot longer than Sam and I expected, but I feel like we’re close for the first time since starting the search. We’re calling it off for now though, and honestly, I’m more worried about you. Are you okay? You sounded...well, let’s just say that I didn’t like how you sounded in your message._ ”

“I’m peachy,” Tony assures quickly, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Just the usual storm of bitching and complaining from the international community about freebies. Nothing to worry about over here.”

There’s a very pregnant pause before Steve demands in a no-nonsense, heavy timbre, “ _Tony, don’t you lie to me._ ”

Tony swallows again, heart pounding, and he fights between brushing off his bout of madness with that secure message and just letting it all out. He doesn’t know how long he hesitates, mind racing and trying to measure out all variables and conclusions, before he decides to ignore Steve in exchange for the more pressing concern in a deliberately nonchalant tone: “I’m guessing you’re not on your deathbed, which is usually my concern when you’re gone for months like that, so that’s good. On your way home then? AHQ or the tower? Or would you rather meet for din—”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve interrupts, and Tony shivers at the resonance of that single word, poignant even though an earpiece.

“Yeah?” Tony breathes out.

“ _Shower, groom, and put on your collar. I’ll be at the tower in an hour and a half, and I want you on your knees for me by the time I get there. Do you understand?_ ”

Tony’s vision goes blurry at the edges, practically Pavlovian in his response to the clear instruction and Dominance in Steve’s even voice, and he shudders with a noisy exhale. His prick feels overly warm in its confines, already starting to stir, and it’s almost ridiculous how Steve can get him hardening in his trousers with just a few sentences. At Tony’s age, it’s even more ridiculous.

“Yes sir,” he says quietly into the air without thinking, then immediately flushes at how mindlessly and easily it had slipped past his lips. He doesn’t like that term of address – _doesn’t play well with others; Tony Stark not recommended_ – and barely uses it, even for people who deserve the title, so it never fails to fluster him. Steve loves when Tony uses it (and he doesn’t usually, which Steve doesn’t try to enforce further surprisingly enough), and it’s kind of embarrassing how quickly he’s falling into a submissive headspace. It probably tells Steve more about where Tony’s head is than a full-blown explanation ever could because Tony doesn’t use ‘sir’ unless he’s teetering and cracked at the edges. Hell of a glaring red flag, right there.

“ _Get yourself ready, Tony_ ,” Steve says, and underneath the obvious pleasure in his voice, Tony can hear the concern.

The line clicks off with another beep and Tony takes a deep breath, saying into the open air, “FRIDAY, I want a blackout of my personal quarters. The only thing that gets through is an Avengers klaxon, and only if it’s a call to arms, okay?”

“Got it, Boss,” she replies instantly.

Tony surges to his feet and stumbles gracelessly back to his bedroom. He hurriedly makes the bed and tosses his laundry in the wardrobe hamper for the cleaning personnel to take care of later, then collects the few coffee mugs littered along the end tables so he can dispose of them in the kitchen. Steve likes things tidy and Tony likes when Steve’s happy, and he wants more than anything to please the man that makes him better, that makes him worth something more than just a large bank account and a suit of armour.

He rushes to the bathroom after placing his workshop clothes neatly back into their drawers, hopping into the already-running shower to clean himself to Steve’s impeccable standards before play: hair and body washed with utmost precision, teeth scrubbed for the second time in half an hour, a quick shave of the stubble on his face and neck and chest, a trim of his pubic hair, and, of course, a thorough douche inside his arse. Knowing what’s coming, what he’s preparing for, is like inhaling an aphrodisiac, and his prick steadily grows thicker as his always-working mind imagines what Steve has in store for him.

He knows what he wants – wants to be fucked and used and _owned_ , needs to be stripped down to the base algorithms of his fracturing brain until there’s nothing left but _Steve_ – and he trusts Steve to know these things. Tony’s not an easy man to read in the slightest, but they’ve been poking at each other with sticks for years and now? Now everything’s different in the most amazing of ways, because they’ve talked and negotiated and worked out their needs and wants, and Steve understands Tony better than probably anyone on the face of this planet.

He remembers that conversation right after Ultron, after Thor had disappeared on the lawn of the brand-new Avengers HQ upstate, right before Tony’s relationship with Pepper had imploded, not with a bang but with a whimper. ‘ _Family, stability...guy who wanted all that went into the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out,_ ’ Steve had said right before Tony had left the Compound and Avengers in his capable hands, and not even two weeks later everything had changed: a call to arms courtesy of Victor von Doom, Pepper giving him an ultimatum as she cried and he suited up. He had slept in his quarters at the Compound for another two weeks so Pepper could make the move back to California, and tried not to kill himself as he sunk into a bottle and another Iron Man prototype once she had left for good. Steve had eventually dragged him out of his workshop after weeks of solitude and self-destruction, Tony literally kicking and screaming vitriol in a half-blind rage. Steve had volleyed back, as he always did, and then beyond all conceivable measure, kicking had turned into grasping and the hateful bellowing had turned into a different kind of screaming.

He’d known that Steve wasn’t a virginal butterfly, of course; between WWII and the USO tours, Steve had experimented despite his heart tentatively set on Peggy Carter. Still, to experience that side of Steve first-hand, well...suffice to say that Tony _had_ been surprised, and that surprise hasn’t dissipated over the past year they’ve been...doing whatever they’re doing. The persona that Steve wears as easily as Tony wears his own meshes well with the type of lover Steve Rogers is, but there’s a difference between Steve’s control on the battlefield or in a meeting and the control he has elsewhere, and it’s incredibly hard to explain even in Tony’s genius mind.

Their relationship, for lack of a better word, is unique, even without bringing in the dynamic they’d fallen into so seamlessly. Tony loves Steve, loves him so much that it’s physically painful, and he knows that it’s a mutual feeling, but it’s complicated. They don’t go out for coffee or take vacations to tropical paradises, and they certainly don’t do PDA or proclaim their love to the world – that’s never been Tony’s M.O., and it’s definitely out of Steve’s comfort zone. It’s hard to define what they have, outside of the frankly obscene amount of mind-blowing sex they have regularly, because it doesn’t fit any textbook definition of a relationship nor does it even remotely resemble Tony’s relationship with Pepper (or Steve’s half-hearted past relationship with Sharon). They’re exclusive, yes, and they love each other, but more and more frequently they’re not even in the same country, let alone the same city, and there’s always the looming threat of the endgame over their heads. Maybe it’s similar to the relationships between virtual strangers during or right after a war, if Tony ignores the lack of a gunshot wedding or children born out of wedlock, because it had just _happened_ one day and neither one of them have an interest in looking elsewhere.

Family and stability...the Avengers (and Pepper) are the closest things Tony and Steve have to a real family, and stability is a foreign concept to them both. A man out of time and a mad engineer, destined to fight for the basic right of human survival until they’re too broken to function or they die in the crossfire. Neither one of them can give it up, the fight and the alter egos and urge to protect from the threats to human existence, and how could anyone expect them to be normal men with healthy relationships and a well-adjusted psyche when they’re out of the armour?

Honestly, Tony and Steve are probably meant for each other for all those reasons alone. Maybe it’s not the most stereotypical relationship – what with the frequent arguments when working as well as the simple fact that Tony likes to be hurt and used in bed while Steve gets off on doing the using and the hurting, not to mention the plethora of issues they have both individually and with each other – but it’s _theirs_ , and Tony might be fucked up in the head for thinking it, but he’s never been happier. He truly has a _partner_ , who slips into every crack of Tony’s being effortlessly and pushes him to be better, who scratches at every itch that no one’s ever been able to reach in Tony; conversely, he pushes Steve to be better too, in different ways, stimulates Steve in every way imaginable, mentally and emotionally. They’re fucking brilliant together, like matter meeting antimatter, total annihilation and enlightenment.

Doesn’t hurt that Steve is ungodly attractive and pushes all Tony’s buttons perfectly.

Tony rinses off once more once he’s completely groomed and glances at the glowing numbers next to the fogless mirrors on the wall of the shower. Sixty-three minutes down, and he needs to get moving.

He hops out and gives himself a rub-down to dry his hair and skin as much as feasible, not bothering to bring out the drier. His hair’s short enough that it’ll be all but dry by the time Steve arrives, and Steve likes when Tony’s not bogged down with his normal hair and skin products, mostly because he likes using Tony’s clean hair as a handhold, and _oh_ , that’s a fucking thought, isn’t it?

His prick’s soft now due to his wandering thoughts, though still sensitive and slightly swollen with mental arousal, but the thought of Steve burying his thick, strong fingers in Tony’s hair and guiding Tony’s face to his erection— _fuck_ yes, that’s more than enough to get him twitching. _Fuck_. Just the thought of it is intoxicating, and as he makes his way to their play wardrobe so he can get his collar, he can’t help but fantasise about what Steve’s got in store for him.

One of Steve’s better qualities in bed – besides the tree trunk between his legs, _obviously_ – is his methodical inventiveness, always pushing boundaries while keeping things safe, sane, and consensual, but there are a few things that Steve always comes back to in the end, even if it’s with some new and exciting variation. Tony _loves_ pleasing Steve, both inside the bedroom and out (even if he’s admittedly kind of shit at the latter), but he has his favourites just like anyone would. Well, not-so-much ‘favourites’ as ‘things that make him drop like a like a meteor coming into orbit’ really, though he supposes they’re interconnected anyway.

It’s not as simple as simply getting off on pain, though there’s a big element of that ingrained in his psyche of course. There’s a lot more that goes into the dynamic on his end: stripping away the mask he wears every second of his life, letting go of the strangling control he holds on his every action and thought, allowing someone else to take care of him both emotionally and physically without having to micromanage or put on a front.

He knows that he himself provides similar comforts to Steve, in the sense that Steve can let go of the monumental expectations and impeccable professional control he maintains in a day-to-day basis and be free of it all. Instead of the all-American beacon of justice and righteousness that he wears in public and private, a mask that wears at Steve’s own psyche, he can let go for once. There’s a part of Steven Grant Rogers that has been amplified by the serum which Steve buries deep inside himself, for very obvious reasons. ‘ _Good becomes great; bad becomes worse,_ ’ Steve has said so many times, almost as if quoting someone, and Tony can see that dark crack in Steve despite how hard he works to remain the strong and empathetic man he genuinely is instead of letting the crack open too wide to be contained. But with Tony he can _let_ the darker control that he craves out to play: the urge to fight and win, the need to hurt and use and objectify, the need to _own_ , all things that go against every rule and moral Steve has had since infancy, and Tony can give that to him with utmost enthusiasm and gleeful consent, with not a single iota of shame or hesitation. He trusts Steve more than anyone else on the planet except Pepper, and it’s a pleasure to give Steve what he needs in exchange for what _Tony_ needs.

Maybe neither one of them had expected family or stability in their extraordinary and traumatic lives, but they’ve found their unique version of it in each other regardless, and if that doesn’t mean that they’re meant for each other, then Tony’s not the genius everyone thinks he is.

Tony fingers his collar – a thick, grey synthetic leather with red stitching and a little red pet tag shaped like a heart that says ‘ _Steve’s Bitch_ ’, simple in appearance but still infused with health-reading sensors just in case – and then loops it around his neck to buckle it, tightening it just enough to really feel it.

He snags the flat, red satin pillow his collar had been on and stumbles to the centre of his large bedroom ungracefully. He places the square pillow down in the exact centre of the room, one edge perfectly parallel to the open doorway, and then abandons it in exchange for a soft chair in the corner of the room. He wishes he was in his twenties again, able to spend hours on his knees without too much discomfort, but despite his peak fitness due to the Iron Man gig, he’s still pushing fifty. It’s just not as easy anymore, a fact made even more glaringly apparent because Steve’s physically a twenty-six-year-old and has the added bonus of being a super-soldier, and Tony might like pain and discomfort but not at the expense of incapacitating himself even more than what his day jobs do Sure, kneeling for an immeasurable amount of time until Steve arrives _sounds_ like an awesome idea, but he’s gotta be practical, especially if he’s so lucky as to get Steve’s thick prick down his throat (which he probably will be, if he thinks about it). Steve likes towering over Tony like that when he’s choking him, and Tony?

 _Well_.

As a general rule, Steve and Tony are pretty fucking compatible. They need and want the same things for the most part, are both willing to push boundaries (scientific experiments!) to see what they can dish out and handle respectively, and Steve’s creative and innovative enough that even Tony – who’s notorious for being finicky, easily bored, quickly distracted, and desperate to do or create something new and exciting – is always surprised.

That being said, they do have their favourites, and _really_ rough oral is at the top of the list. To be perfectly honest, Tony would give up literally every other aspect of sex for a brutal face-fucking. Anal’s fucking spectacular (as was vaginal, back when he was not exclusive with a male, hot-blooded super-soldier), handjobs are awesome, frottage and rubbing is brill, intergluteal is fabulous... _all_ sex is up Tony’s alley, without a doubt, but he’d give up even masturbation for a face-fucking. He’d probably die in the process due to chronic blue balls, sure, because coming untouched is not exactly easy for any man, but he’d do it in a heartbeat (and luckily he doesn’t have to, thank whatever gods are out there).

Honestly, there’s only been a few things that Tony hasn’t cared for in their foray into the Dominant/submissive dynamic, only a sparse handful of things he’s a hard ‘fuck no’ entirely, and he’s only safeworded once with Steve.

Apparently, interrogation mixed in with sexual and bodily torture doesn’t do it for him, and Steve had backpedalled _so fucking fast_ when Tony had finally tipped from _maybe-this-will-be-therapeutic-so-let’s-try-it!_ to _no-no-please-god-no_.

Go figure.

Anyway, it had taken a bit to get Steve comfortable with it, to feel at ease with any type of roughness during sex. Steve is always highly aware of what he is and what he’s capable of, and he had had a self-admitted vanilla relationship with Sharon Carter (and with all those men and women in the forties) because he had refused to let that deeply sheltered need to hurt and own out to play because _bad becomes worse_. Tony gets it, always has, because Steve’s a lot stronger than almost everyone and could really, _really_ hurt someone if he slipped for even a second. His impeccable control of his own desires is remarkable but he’s still superhuman, and he’s always been frightened of how easily it could be to truly destroy if he put his mind to it. He’s such a good man that it’s almost unnerving to Tony, who’s almost always been surrounded by people who don’t give a flying fuck about the carnage they leave behind.

But that deep ember of what the serum made worse is intoxicating to a man like Tony.

The first night they’d had sex – Tony spiralling out of control and so miserable that he couldn’t even think properly – Steve had been firm but unerringly gentle at first, despite it clearly being angry sex for the both of them. Tony had pushed back, as he always does and always will, because he hadn’t wanted gentle stress relief; he can get off physically from vanilla sex no problem, but mentally he’s unsatisfied with it, and in the haze of depression and fury and self-hatred, he had needed to _feel_ something else, needed to get out of his head for even a single blessed moment. He had pushed and fought and goaded Steve, and Steve had finally snapped, shoving Tony hard against a wall and forcing him to his knees. A gentle, loving blowjob hadn’t been in the cards then, especially when Tony had moaned and choked like a whore around Steve’s punishing thrusts into his throat, and when Steve had finally orgasmed, it had only taken one single stroke to his own prick to pop off like a fountain.

Steve had been horrified, despite his spent prick still hard as a rock from the dark desire of seeing Tony cough up come on his hands and knees, and Tony had shrugged off Steve’s heartfelt apologies by pushing him to the ground and straddling his waist, still coughing up fluids and lightheaded from oxygen deprivation. ‘ _I like it to hurt,_ ’ Tony’d told him through the rasp of his abused throat, already rocking his too-sensitive, softening prick against Steve’s rigid erection, and had guided Steve’s strong hands to his neck, encouraging him to _squeeze_.

They’d fucked again right there in the middle of an open hallway, halfway between Tony’s workshop and the lifts to the upper levels, Steve constantly asking Tony if he was okay as he gradually got rougher and rougher and _rougher_. Then Steve had thrown him over his shoulder and marched him the rest of the way to Tony’s penthouse and fucked him twice more.

They’d had a _long_ talk the next morning over breakfast (well, more like lunch really), Tony opting out of clothing so he could eye his bruise-littered body in every reflective surface he could find and feeling lighter than he had in months. Tony had practically carried Steve through the massive undertaking of BDSM and D/s play, emphasising over and over again that _yes, I get off on pain and humiliation in the bedroom and yes, it’s perfectly normal to be a sadist and a masochist as long as it’s consensual and safewords are respected, and yes, I’d be totally game for a repeat performance if you pinky promise to beat and fuck me into submission because a super-soldier Dom sounds freakin’ awesome._

Needless to say, Steve had taken a few weeks to research on his own, then had cornered Tony after an SI board meeting one Tuesday afternoon and demanded a lengthy negotiation process before anything proceeded, like he’d regurgitated a BDSM subreddit post complete with a printed-out negotiation spreadsheet.

Steven Grant Rogers is such a pedantic nerd sometimes.

Tony’s never been a stickler for contracts or negotiations when hammering out sexual festivities, simply depending on safewords if he doesn’t like something (which _has_ gotten him into some...really bad situations before without a doubt); it figured that Steve would be the total opposite, considering how finicky and by-the-book he is with every aspect of his life. It had been the first negotiation outside of spur-of-the-moment _these are my hard limits and ‘bullfrog’ is my safeword_ that he’d ever had, and honestly, it’s a good thing. He’s secure in the knowledge that Steve knows exactly what he does and doesn’t want, and there’s not much room for mistakes. It’s ridiculously good to know that he’s safe with the spangled beacon of honour and truth and that there’s no miscommunication, because yeah, Tony’s had some bad experiences in the scene. He hasn’t met a lot of submissive people who haven’t.

It’s done wonders for their professional life too. Perhaps a good strapping and regular sex really _is_ the answer to work-related personal issues – though it’s mostly the stress relief of letting go plus the fact that Steve and Tony are really fucking good at communicating now because of their dynamic, he figures – but nowadays they’re like a seamless unit on the battlefield. Tony’s still generally bad at following orders when he’s not in a submissive mind-space, but he’s definitely better at it now because he trusts Steve explicitly, and knows that it’s reciprocal.

Plus Tony has the added incentive of being deliciously rewarded when the battle’s won if he’s cooperative, but that’s beside the point.

Somehow, stress relief via sex and BDSM had turned into Steve spending his weekends in Manhattan instead of the Compound, both of them eating takeout from their containers (sometimes with Steve feeding him by hand as Tony remained tied up), watching films (sometimes with Tony warming Steve’s prick with his mouth or arse), or working on independent projects in quiet togetherness (sometimes with Tony doing schematics while being fucked by a machine or being yanked away from hot metal work so Steve can fuck his mouth again). They talk a lot too, not only about the job and sex but also about Tony’s projects, Steve’s art, politics, past experiences, cats, food they want to try, and even that funny guy on Fifth Avenue who sells used condoms for a surprising amount of cash. They talk about everything, good and bad, and there may be a few stories and secrets they keep from each other because it’s important to have private spaces, but they’re very open and communicative regardless.

He’s not entirely sure when casual but impersonal kinky sex between consenting co-workers had turned into a bona fide relationship with Steve-fucking-Rogers of all people, but he’s grateful for it, and he really does love the glorious jerk, infuriating idealism and all. He’s a better man with Steve Rogers in his personal life, and with the regular release of his suffocating responsibilities in exchange for Steve’s capable hands in the bedroom (and increasingly out of it, to be honest), his general disposition has lifted exponentially, to everyone’s relief.

Not only that, but—

“Boss, Captain Rogers has just entered the elevator,” FRIDAY says, pulling Tony out of his rambling thoughts with a start. He hops to his feet before he even realises that he’s moved, totally undignified in his rushing excitement. As far as he’s concerned, he hasn’t seen Steve in months, vaguely worried that he’s been killed or kidnapped or something even if he knows Steve’s nonsensically resilient, so he’s allowed liberties. Besides, it’s not like anyone except FRIDAY can see him bumble around like a child learning to walk, and it’s not like she’ll gossip about it.

He hurries to the pillow and makes a dedicated effort to kneel, making sure that the perfect parallel of the cushion to the doorway doesn’t stray, and once he’s satisfied with his placement, he notches the collar one hole tighter with fumbling fingers. The collar is delectably restricting now, digging into the flesh of his neck just enough for him to feel his pulse like a brand, and he knows that his neck is turning red from the strain, just like they both like it. _God_ yes, does it feel good, and his prick is thickening so fast from the collar and kneeling and the incoming arrival of Steve that it’d be pathetic if it wasn’t so good.

He locks his arms behind his back, hands grasping around the opposing forearms right above the elbows, and squeezes right as he lowers his chin, feeling the edge of the synthetic leather as it digs into his jaw. The dual sensations make him shiver with a gasp, fingernails digging into his skin, and he feels the tingling sensation of blood surging into his groin once again, beginning to stiffen the sensitive organ between his thighs.

He counts the seconds – _one-one thousand, two-one thousand_ – that seem to stretch for an impossibly long time. The corners of his vision are starting to blur as he intentionally hyperventilates past the bite of the collar, saturating his blood with oxygen in hopeful preparation, and his fuzzy gaze attempts to focus on the soft, burgundy fibres of the pillow under his knees instead of on the vivid need. It’s soft and plush against his knees, but he can still feel the hardwood underneath; it’s just on the cusp of uncomfortable, a concrete reminder of what he’s doing, what he’s waiting for. It sends another thrill up his spine, and he can feel his prick slowly get harder with every quick thud of his heart, balls already beginning to tighten in anticipation despite Steve not even being in the goddamn room yet. His hole contracts and releases, over and over again as if trying to pull something inside, and he moans in the back of his throat, hips pushing forward once in a futile attempt for friction against his stiffening erection.

He distantly hears the _ding_ of the lift through the blood rushing in his ears, and Tony’s entire body throbs, an involuntary whine tearing through his throat because _yes-yes-yes-here-yes_.

It takes a truly unholy level of iron will to keep from looking up to search for Steve, and he clenches his eyes shut to quell the desperate impulse. It does keep him from disobeying Steve’s baseline orders ( _eyes down, hands behind back, collar on, don’t speak unless spoken to_ ) but it makes everything more vivid in exchange: the fogginess of his normally-sharp thoughts, the whisper of cool air on his lightly perspiring skin that makes him break out in gooseflesh, the tingling of his prick as it fills with blood, the sound of traffic made distant from the ninety-six storeys of separation, the burn in his lungs as he heaves in air, his overly hot face and the bite of the collar in his skin, the hum of the air circulators and approaching footsteps on the stairs leading from the main level of his penthouse to his bedroom. It’s intoxicating, the buzz of adrenaline and excitement heady in his body, and he’s practically vibrating with anticipation.

Those footsteps draw ever closer, heavy and purposeful in Steve’s easily identifiable gait, and then the sound stops right at the open doorway. Tony grits his teeth to keep himself from launching upright and throwing himself into Steve’s arms, wanting to please more than anything in the entire world, and simply kneels there obediently for Steve’s eyes to enjoy, subservient posture impeccable and continuing to hyperventilate. It’s not even really for oxygenating his blood in preparation for any asphyxiation anymore; no, he’s practically on fire from the weighty stare he can feel boring into his naked body, and he _needs_.

“Look at you,” Steve finally rumbles quietly, the rough timbre of his voice like a shot of pure, unadulterated arousal surging through his veins, and Tony whines again from behind his gritted teeth, fingernails digging into his forearms so he can focus on something besides the desperate urge to beg or disobey base orders. Tony might have poor impulse control and a snarky streak a continent wide, but he’ll be damned if he disobeys simple orders today. He’s been on the edge for so long, so exhausted and stretched thin and fractured at the seams, and he needs Steve to break him to pieces so he can put him back together in some semblance of sanity.

Steve takes a few steps inside as he hums thoughtfully, stops for a long moment as he closes the door and puts something down softly, and then Tony can hear footsteps begin to circle his kneeling body, clearly inspecting. Thick fingers card through Tony’s clean, almost-dry hair and then they hook into the back of Tony’s collar, pulling forcibly. It strains Tony’s neck to the point where blood- and airflow is cut off, and Tony lets out a strangled moan, eyes rolling back into his head behind his eyelids as his prick twitches between his thighs. Steve lets go after a few seconds of glorious choking, Tony swaying and panting harshly before he manages to collect himself, and then continues inspecting Tony’s attention to detail: calloused fingers stroking down his shaved chest until they caress the neatly trimmed hair below his navel to the base of his hardening prick, making sure it’s of consistent length due to meticulous focus. Then those fingers trail across his hips until one hand spreads his arse open, the other going to his fluttering hole, stroking across the opening to test its dryness. Steve hums again with clear pleasure, the pad of one finger pressing against Tony’s dry hole, and then he’s gone completely, removing all physical connection between their bodies.

“You did so good for me, Tony,” he murmurs, and Tony shudders at the praise. It’s almost embarrassing to be praised, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, honestly – there’s something deeply ingrained in Tony that will never believe he’s worthy of it, and to hear Steve Rogers of all people offer up praise so easily and _honestly_ is a shocking thing to experience. Still, it burns inside of him to hear it given so freely from this magnificent man, and he can’t help but believe that Steve genuinely is pleased with Tony, even if he will always have trouble truly compartmentalising it in his brain.

Steve continues, “But you deliberately evaded on the phone despite my need for honesty, Tony, and that’s not how a good pet behaves.” Tony shivers again at the dark intent in Steve’s tone, and _oh_ he loves when Steve gets like this, all demanding and darkly serious. It’s practically a reward when Steve punishes him – punishment is a delicious thing, feeding into his twisted psyche that will always believe that he deserves it while simultaneously giving him absolution when he _is_ disciplined – and because of that, Tony doesn’t regret the evasion on the phone, despite wanting so desperately to be good.

He hears Steve get to his knees in front of Tony, and Tony can’t help but gasp with a twisted mixture of pain and desire when Steve’s big, square hand grabs Tony’s balls and half-hard prick, pulling them roughly away from his body. A dark chuckle in between Tony’s heaving breaths, and Steve digs into his pocket for a moment before Tony feels the constriction of a leather cock and ball ring tightly snapped into place.

Tony groans as his heavy balls are slapped twice in succession, and bites his tongue to keep the desperate pleas from escaping his throat. He _hates_ cock and ball rings as much as he loves them, and other than being forced to watch Steve get himself off without giving Tony relief or the satisfaction of being Steve’s fucktoy during a scene, the rings are the most effective punishment that he can receive while also being practical.

Steve’s a super-soldier and Tony’s, well, not. He’s also nearing fifty, which comes with its own set of issues. Tony can get hard pretty quickly, comparatively speaking, and while it takes him a bit to come if he’s concentrating on delaying the inevitable, actually getting off means that he’s going to be out for the count for at least a few hours, if not for the rest of the day. While they’ve definitely explored that avenue (Tony loves the agony of oversensitivity and Steve can go for literally half a fucking _day_ before he gets even remotely tired, so they’ve absolutely played with marathon sex, though not often since it wipes Tony out for days), it’s generally easier to keep Tony from ejaculating entirely until Steve is satisfied enough to stop. Cock rings are the best way to do that outside of the little blue pill, which Tony can’t take because of his heart, and it keeps Tony in a perpetual state of need without conking out after orgasm, plus it keeps him perpetually on the edge, constantly orgasming dry without a chance of stopping it.

That being said, Tony fucking hates it at the same time. Being fucked through sated oversensitivity is a gloriously painful thing, yes, but being fucked through frantic and unreachable desire is another thing entirely, especially if it goes on long enough. Every atom in Tony’s body hurts both during and after the scene, raw and agonising in entirety, and it utterly wrecks him because it forces him to suffer through unending need without being aware his own body’s limitations. Steve can fuck him for hours when he’s sated and Tony will be cognisant of what his body is going through as he oh-so-slowly works his way up to another orgasm, making tiny adjustments to alleviate his body’s concerns. When he’s desperate for release, on the other hand, Tony doesn’t care that his throat is raw or his arse is pummelled, and he certainly doesn’t register that every bone and muscle in his body is screaming at him for relief from the abuse. He’s just fucking _gone_ , with no concern to his own physical limitations. Steve is meticulous and careful despite his own need to hurt and use Tony, but it doesn’t alter the fact that Tony tends to go overboard in his mindless need, which he pays for via a solid week of recovery.

Needless to say, they don’t use the rings very often for those very reasons, saving that for when Tony really needs to be punished or is desperate for relief from his own brain. Tony can be very good at delaying his own orgasm if he’s ordered to after all, and if Steve wants to stretch a scene even longer, he can always wrap tight fingers once or twice around Tony’s prick and balls to delay orgasm for a few more minutes of play; cock and ball rings, on the other hand, are solid and constant, a signal that their play will stretch on until Tony’s incoherent and wretched.

Tony doubts that this is true punishment though – Steve just _knows_ Tony, inside and out, better than any other human being in existence, and even a brief secure communication and Tony’s absent use of ‘sir’ is enough for Steve to dissect exactly what Tony needs right now. Steve knows that Tony needs to be ripped out of his brain in exchange for a single-minded focus, primal and base, and punishment for Tony’s misdirection over the mobile or not, being torn apart by need is a brilliant way to do so.

 _God_ , but he loves this insufferable bastard.

“Come as much as you want, Tony,” Steve says, almost teasingly, before he delivers a third, much harder slap to Tony’s throbbing balls, humming in pleasure when Tony curls into himself from the pain before he forces his body back into position. Fingers from Steve’s other hand card through his hair as Steve rolls and squeezes Tony’s aching balls in his palm, soothing after the stinging slap, and then suddenly he’s grasping Tony’s hair in a painful grip, Steve hopping to his feet nonsensically quick as he yanks Tony upright. He hisses in response, scalp burning as he scrambles to his feet, desperately trying to keep his balance despite his shaking legs so his hair isn’t pulled even harder than it already is. When he’s somewhat stable, the harsh grip is released in exchange for one of Steve’s fingers looping into the D-ring with the tag, and Tony’s pulled by the collar closer to the doorway, spots dancing in front of his eyes as the rough tug digs into his neck.

They stop right in front of _the_ chair – or futuristic chair-like post, if he’s being more specific, because it’s certainly not just a chair – which has been sitting in Tony’s sublevel workshop since he built the thing a few months ago and has clearly been transported to Tony’s penthouse bedroom by Steve to be included in the festivities. It’s matte grey metal with crimson cushions, utterly beautiful if he says so himself, with a large, dark cobalt vibrator built into the seat. There are long stretches of padded metal along each side of the seat itself for Tony’s shins to rest on, so he can either be tied down to it to be fucked by the mechanical vibrator or to use as leverage to fuck _himself_ on it, and then two more padded metal ledge directly above those to grip or be tied to for stability. The entire front is open, and the height of the chair was precisely measured so Tony’s mouth can be used for Steve’s pleasure simultaneously, though it can be modified easily for different heights in the event that Steve doesn’t want to stand (or decides to invite anyone else into their scenes in the future, though fat chance of that happening).

Tony’s mouth waters at the sight of it.

“Bend over,” Steve orders quietly, his voice rough and dark, and Tony shivers with arousal as he obeys immediately, prick almost fully hard now. He grips the leg rests and spreads his legs, letting Steve trace his crease and hole gently with his big fingers, and Steve murmurs, “I’m going to open you up now, get you all nice and wet for that toy. How does that sound, pet?”

Tony instinctively wants to agree wholeheartedly but something deep in his brain is lighting up now, and despite Steve’s manhandling of him, he still needs _more_. He wants to be good, wants to be perfect for Steve, but at the same time he wants to be broken apart in every way imaginable with a brutal hand, wants to be consumed and hurt, wants Steve to _prove_ that’s he’s in control, and that itself makes Tony swallow his primal need to submit in exchange for a rasping, “God, Steve, stop teasing and just fucking _do_ it.”

There’s a beat of silence, Steve’s hands still against him, and then, faster than Tony can even blink, Steve’s hand jerks away and lands again with a loud slap against the muscled flesh of Tony’s arse. Tony lurches forward, fingers clenching around the leg rests as he gasps out a thin exhale, and then his entire body shudders from the bright flash of pain that radiates heat along his skin. Steve’s hand flies down again on the opposite cheek almost immediately, just as hard and powerful without Tony having even a second to collect himself, and this time Tony cries out sharply as he jerks forward again.

He braces himself for another slap but suddenly Steve’s hand is back in Tony’s hair with a punishing grip, pushing him roughly down until the vibrator is forced between his lips. “Suck it, you little slut,” Steve rasps, and Tony moans thickly as he’s bodily yanked up and down the plastic by the hair, gagging as the thick shaft slips down his throat without any preparation. Steve spanks him again, unbearably hard, over and over again on his arse and thighs, and Tony can’t help the gurgling cries that tear through his working throat with each smack, tears already starting to trail down his nose and temples, his lower body on _fire_ from the ruthless spanking and sweat prickling all over his body as he overheats. He’s starting to get lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, the vibrator long enough to cut off his nasal passage and his distracted mind forgetting to take the occasional breath when he has the chance, and it’s so fucking good, so utterly consuming, and _fuck_ he loves having his mouth fucked, even if it would be infinitely better if it was Steve’s prick reaming his throat.

As he chokes on the vibrator, he can’t help but try and cringe away from every smack on his arse and thighs, even though he can’t go far, and Steve just laughs and says almost playfully, “C’mon, Tony, you brought this on yourself for talking back. Besides, you _love_ it, don’t you baby? Love it when I hurt you and make you choke on something, even though I know you’d love it more if it was my cock down your throat instead.” Steve’s hand stops landing on his arse, kneading Tony’s burning and likely bruised skin harshly before he’s dipping lower, fondling Tony’s rock-hard prick and throbbing balls in his big hand. Tony practically sobs at the friction of Steve’s dry hand against his prick, but bucks into it all the same, desperate for relief that won’t be forthcoming with the ring on. “See?” he continues, practically cheerful despite the hoarse arousal thickening his voice, “you’re practically desperate for it. Rocking into my hand like a whore despite your pretty red arse still smarting from your spanking.”

Steve pulls Tony almost completely off the vibrator, only the thick tip in his mouth, and Tony heaves for air through his nose even as he continues to suck at the unyielding plastic and whimpers through the stinging pain still radiating down his legs, brain already going fuzzy. “Keep sucking that and I’ll let you make me feel good in a minute,” Steve all but croons as he breaks all physical contact, and Tony moans in both displeasure from the separation and frantic anticipation, already sucking more of the vibrator into his mouth until he’s gagging on it with his own free will. It’s wet and dripping, thick saliva pooling on the cushion surrounding the toy, but he doesn’t give a fuck, consumed with the need to please, the need of a prick down his throat even if it’s plastic, the need to be owned and used.

Tony barely hears Steve open the cap of lube and audibly begin slicking his fingers through the rushing blood in his ears, but he does feel Steve pressing his coarse jeans against his arse, grinding into Tony hard. It stings, and Tony groans weakly around the vibrator with clenched eyes, pushing his hips backwards into Steve’s massive, rigid prick that’s trapped in its own confines. Steve lets out a low, rumbling sound of pleasure and rocks into him with little rolls of his hips, and then he steps away, Tony whining at the loss as his dry hole contracts desperately.

“I understand why you did it,” Steve says patiently, though his tone is rough with need as he uses one hand to spread Tony’s cheeks. One thick finger circles Tony’s hole for a second before it slips inside, and Tony keens, bucking his hips backwards as his attention is diverted. He stops sucking at the vibrator, simply gasping around it as thick saliva drips down his chin, all of his attention focussed on the slow glide of Steve’s finger in his arse. “But you should know better,” Steve continues, finger easing out before sliding back in, “and I wonder what that means. Does that mean that you don’t trust me to know what you need right now?”

 _No, I do, I promise I do_ , Tony thinks desperately, and even though he knows that Steve’s question is rhetorical, he still wants to pull off the vibrator and say the words out loud.

Another finger slips inside the first, and despite Steve’s thick fingers, there’s no pain, only a familiar pressure that feels equally odd and yet good. Steve’s deliberately avoiding Tony’s prostate, which is almost a blessing really – he already feels too close to the edge of orgasm, and anything more than what Steve’s doing right now will just increase the frenzy of Tony’s need to get genuine relief. Still, he can’t help but bear down on his fingers, stimulating the nerve-rich muscles in his arse that go straight to his hard prick, and despite the ring, Tony can feel precome beginning to trickle out of him in steady pulses. God, maybe he won’t even need prostate or prick stimulation to get off, because the sound of Steve’s voice and the heady thrum of submission in his fuzzy brain is already riding the line.

“But it’s okay, pet,” Steve murmurs, crouching low to press a kiss to Tony’s tender arse as his fingers impale him before he straightens again, running his free hand down Tony’s damp chest and along his lower stomach in a sweeping arc, steadily getting closer to his aching prick. Tony has to resist the urge to bite down on the plastic of the vibrator as he tries desperately not to come. “I understand. I’ve read the reports and summaries of what you’ve been going through for the past few months, and I haven’t been here for you. You need that reassurance, don’t you? Need me to take care of you and wipe the slate clean? Well, I’m here now, and I’m going to take real good care of you, take you until you can’t even remember your own name, make you hurt like you need me to. That’s my job, isn’t it, and I take care of what’s mine. Because you _are_ mine, Tony. _Mine_.”

He punctuates his claim with a rub of Tony’s swollen prostate and a sudden, harsh stroke of Tony’s prick, and there’s nothing that Tony can do to stop the rush of sensation as his balls tense, prick pulsing as he finally snaps against his will. He arches, every muscle tight with tension as his hips jerk both into Steve’s fist and his thick fingers, both of them mercilessly rubbing him through his dry orgasm, and tears are streaming down Tony’s face from the simultaneous pleasure and denial of a satisfying climax.

He twitches constantly on shaky legs and hands, and Steve pulls his fingers from Tony’s arse to catch him around the middle, lifting him up until he’s cradled against Steve’s clothed chest. Tony’s bare toes trail along the hardwood floor, Steve using his immense strength to keep him off the ground in a comforting embrace, and Tony simply shakes through the aftershocks, prick and balls positively throbbing to the beat of his racing heart and heaving breaths.

Tony’s wet eyes finally blink open once he slumps, the room and chair blurry in his line of vision. Steve has one arm wrapped around Tony’s lower stomach, his hand absently fondling Tony’s sensitive, swollen prick as the other hand grasps Tony’s hip tightly. Steve effortlessly begins moving Tony’s body, digging Tony’s tender arse into the hard, damp fabric of his jeans as he rolls his hips, using Tony’s lax form to rub his confined prick against Tony for friction. Tony moans weakly, skin stinging from the rough denim and his slightly damp prick throbbing from the stimulation, and then Steve hums in the back of his throat, manoeuvring his hands until he’s lifting Tony up completely, physically manhandling his body to the chair.

Steve helps Tony balance himself on the shin planks before he digs in his pocket again, squirting out lube into his palm. He strokes up and down the vibrator fast, his knuckles hitting the underside of Tony’s arse on every upstroke, as he says, “You come so pretty, Tony. Such a swell gift to me after so long away. I need to see it again, watch you jerk that perfect little dick of yours as that dildo fucks your arse until you’re falling apart on it, wishing that it was me getting you all sloppy and loose instead of a toy. I need it so bad, baby, and I know you’ll make me happy. Will you make me happy, Tony?”

“Yes sir,” Tony breathes, already bringing one shaking hand down to his throbbing prick to obey, always to obey, wanting to please Steve more than anything.

Steve slaps his hand away with a tut, then grasps Tony’s hips with his lube-slick hand, helping Tony get into position and slowly sink down on the solid length of the toy. Tony moans throatily as it slides it with a slick sound, his aroused body sucking it in, and while it’s not as long and thick as Steve’s prick, it’s still sizeable, and it glides along his prostate, making Tony jolt around a desperate groan despite Steve’s hands holding Tony’s hips tightly. “There you go,” Steve hums when Tony’s fully seated on it, stroking Tony’s trembling thighs a few times before stepping away with a light pat to Tony’s arse, making Tony jerk with a shaky exhale as the vibrator shifts inside him.

Steve circles the chair until he’s directly in front of Tony, and Tony licks his already sloppy lips as Steve’s hands drop slowly to his belt, taking his time to unbuckle the leather strap before moving to the button. A flick of his fingers, and then Steve’s dragging the flies down leisurely, clearly teasing. He finishes, immediately dropping a hand to palm at the obvious bulge in his tight blue pants, already soaked with his own precome, and says quietly as he plays with himself through the damp fabric, “I can’t wait until it’s your mouth doing this to me, licking me up even as I drip more for you.” He uses his spare hand to pull down the waistband until he’s pulling his prick and balls free, tucking the top of the pants right under his heavy balls.

Tony’s seen a lot of pricks (and various other bits) in his life and, though he’s never met a set of genitalia on any gender that he _hasn’t_ liked, Steve’s prick is a work of art. It’s perfectly proportional to the massive bulk of him, long and thick and veined, and so engorged with blood that it’s almost purple. He’s uncut, which is quite the treat, and the bulbous head is peeking out of the foreskin, already slick and still dripping copiously. He hasn’t any hair other than a soft, peach fuzz – apparently related to his delayed and abnormal puberty due to constant illness pre-serum – and so he’s smooth everywhere too. Tony’s not going to lie; it’s fucking awesome because he doesn’t have to worry about stubble burn from shaving or getting hair in his mouth during a rough blowjob, and therefore even the smallest distractions don’t get in the way of Tony pleasuring Steve.

Steve strokes his prick from root to tip, pinching the foreskin so he can slip it around the head, and moans lowly, hips rolling forward. Tony whines, mouth flooded with saliva as he begins rocking helplessly on the vibrator, desperate to get his mouth on that thing, and can’t help but roll his own hips, biting his bottom lip through another whine as it rubs against his prostate. “Can’t wait to feel your throat around me, Tony,” Steve says roughly, caressing the head with the foreskin with audibly slick sounds. “You look so good when you’re choking on me, baby, and I know you love it when I fuck your beautiful mouth sloppy. Make me happy Tony, and I’ll give you your reward. Activate lubrication, and set movement to three.”

Tony chokes on his saliva and gasps, “Yes,” as the chair almost silently starts, and then moans in the back of his throat when the vibrator starts pushing in and out of him, the already slick length beginning to secrete more lube with a lewd squelch. Tony’s mouth falls open and he rocks into the thrusts instinctively, following the mechanical motions as it pushes in and out of him with small rolls of his hips. He belatedly drops one hand back down to his throbbing prick, pulling harshly at the engorged flesh, and he wants to close his eyes as he’s pleasured inside and out but he can’t bear the thought of tearing his eyes away from Steve.

“I love how you look at me,” Steve whispers, fondling himself as he watches Tony get fucked with half-lidded blue eyes, his face and neck flushed. “Does it feel nice, pet?”

“Yes sir,” Tony breathes out, and he barely even recognises his voice, rough and gravelly and thick, almost a slur. Steve’s fist squeezes around the head of his prick, hips jerking into it as he grits his teeth through a hiss, and Tony groans, toes curling and thighs tensing as he starts riding the vibrator as hard as he can. He wants—he _needs_ to get off, needs to be good for Steve, needs to come dry and still desperate, _needs_ to be perfect so Steve’ll bring that dripping prick over and slide it down Tony’s throat like a claim. He needs it so badly that he’s all but drooling, lips wet and throat aching for the stretch of Steve’s girth, and he rasps out frantically, “It’s so good, sir, _so_ good...wish it was you, you’d do so much better, splitting me open and making me hurt, _please_ , I—I can make you happy, let me suck you, fuck my face like you need to, I know you—”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve gasps, and he’s stepping forward as he pulls on his swollen prick, quick and hard and brutal, and Tony’s jaw drops in bright hope before Steve’s coming with a low moan, hazy eyes focussed on Tony as he aims at Tony’s shuddering, undulating body. Tony feels the come hit his skin, hot and oily and slick, streaking across his mouth and face and neck and chest before the last spurts are pointed directly at Tony’s own prick, making everything wet and messy and so fucking _hot_ , and Tony clenches down on the pistoning vibrator helplessly, throwing his head back as his fingers yank hard at his throbbing erection, gone-gone-gone with the taste of spunk on his tongue and his body on fucking _fire_.

Tony’s vision is so spotty and blurred now that he can’t even see Steve right in front of him, though he can hear the slick sounds of Steve pulling his prick (obviously still hard, the enhanced bastard) with hitched breaths. Tony convulses on the vibrator with near-constant whines of discomfort, so oversensitive and horribly aroused that it’s physically painful to stay seated on it, but he remains in place regardless, trying to relax his still body as much as he can in an effort to please Steve. His hands are back on the armrests, his prick too damn sensitive to even contemplate touching it right now, and every muscle in his aging body feels tight and sore from overexertion and the overbearing need to get off.

Two orgasms within...ten minutes? Fifteen? He doesn’t even know how long Steve’s been up here, wrecking him with his presence as much as his actions, and if this is how the day’s going to go, he’s going to be a solid ball of mindless desperation by the end of it. His heavy balls are already painful, throbbing with need, and his prick is so engorged with blood that he’s vaguely afraid that the ring will snap off from the pressure. And _fuck_ , Steve hasn’t even fucked his throat or arse yet.

Tony’s going to die at the end of this, he’s sure of it. He’s been on the edge of sanity for what seems like ages, too high-strung and overstretched, and Steve’s been gone for too long that he’s dropping hard and fast. He already feels drunk, right on the fringes of subspace and total bliss, and fuck, but he needs, just a little more, just a _little more_.

“Cease movement,” Steve says, mercifully, and Tony breathes out a _thank you sir_ that’s more slur than words, slumping down as much as he can and heaving for oxygen. He’s covered in sweat and his skin is still burning with heat, and he can feel come drying on his body as well as the lube that’s dripping down his thighs, but he tries to pull himself out of the near-delirious blur, hopeful that he’s been good enough, that he’s put on a pretty show, that he can get what he really wants and give Steve the attention he deserves.

“You did so well, pet,” Steve murmurs, finally touching as he cards thick fingers through Tony’s damp hair, and Tony hums, pushing into it even though he gasps with pleasure-pain when the movement makes him roll his hips slightly on the slick vibrator. God, he needs to fucking come so badly, prick and balls throbbing with his heartbeat, and he’s already close to the edge, the ring keeping him desperate and needy. Fuck, he could probably come again just from this, and boy is he depraved.

Steve’s fingers tighten in Tony’s hair, hard and powerful, and Tony whines with a bolt of pure desire when Steve pulls him forward, shoving his face into the hard erection without finesse. It’s wet and hot against his cheek and jaw, and he wants his mouth on it but Steve’s grip is too solid for Tony to turn his head without tearing his own hair out, so he just shivers and moans as Steve bodily uses Tony’s face for friction. “You’re so good for me, Tony,” Steve rumbles, rolling his hips incrementally, and Tony vaguely wonders what it feels like, feeling the scrape of Tony’s facial hair combined with the soft skin of his face and drying come. He bets that it feels magnificent, and he tries to rub into it as best he can, drinking in the sounds of Steve’s heavy breathing and soft groans.

“You going to make me really happy, baby?” Steve asks, so low it’s practically a rumble, and pulls back just enough so he can trace Tony’s lips with the ruddy wet tip of his prick, smearing precome as he goes. Tony licks at the dampness, moaning at the slightly tangy taste as it hits his tongue, and chases the head of Steve’s prick, whining when Steve just laughs and keeps it away. “I bet you will,” Steve continues, blue eyes dark and heated even through the haze of arousal clouding Tony’s vision. “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you? Need me to use your pretty mouth like the hole it is? You’re already so good to me, and that _mouth_ of yours, Tony. What I want to do to it, to _you_...”

“Please,” Tony whispers, feverish and pleading.

“God, it’s like you were made for me. You are _perfect_ , Tony Stark, _perfect_ for me.” The words themselves are delicious, seeping in through the cracks of Tony’s inferiority complex and twisted brain until they warm even the tips of his toes, but the tone – awed and reverent, stunned even – hits him in the chest like a fucking planet. He feels his eyes sting and every atom of his body tingles simultaneously, and the hot pleasure that sings through him is like a brand, settling deep in his chest like a physical presence.

“I love you,” Tony croaks, overwhelmed and feeling so fucking much that it takes his breath away.

Steve falls to his knees, eyes blazing into Tony’s fuzzy ones, and caresses his wet cheek softly, so at odds with the consensual violence they partake in. “Jesus, Tony,” he whispers, and then he surges forward, tongue slipping past Tony’s lips in a demanding, consuming kiss.

Tony utterly loses it, a pulse of unadulterated heat roaring through his veins until it pounds audibly in his ears, and he moans helplessly into Steve’s kiss as he returns it. _You have the most indecent oral fixation, Stank_ , he vaguely hears echo in his fuzzy thoughts, Rhodey all the way, and he almost wants to laugh hysterically at the errant thought but he can’t stomach the idea of not sucking on the tongue in his mouth in a mimicry of what he wants to do to Steve’s prick. They both bury fingers in each other’s hair, mouths biting and hard and wet, and yeah, Tony definitely has an oral fixation but at least he owns it.

Tony’s rocking on the vibrator again, the steady secretion of lube from the toy absolutely filthy-sounding as he grinds up and down its length, and it’s almost too much in combination with two dry orgasms and Steve’s mouth on his. He feels so high-strung, lightheaded and wild, and he _needs_. “Please,” he begs again against Steve’s mouth, shaking all over and every muscle tense, and Steve just laughs, hands trailing down Tony’s back until they grip his hips hard enough to bruise.

He slams Tony down hard and Tony cries out, the sound muffled as Steve’s tongue pushes into his mouth, almost too far, and then he does it again and again and again. The vibrator grinds against his prostate and Tony wants to scream from the sensation, the intrusion abusing his insides with a loud squelch. His body bows inward, Steve’s teeth biting down on Tony’s tongue as he continues to bodily force Tony up and down on the toy, and Tony _sobs_ , tears starting to stream down his cheeks because _god-yes-too-much-hurts-god-please_. He knows he’s going to come again, too fucking soon from the last, and _fuck_ he hates cock and ball rings, hates them hates them ha—

When the orgasm hits, Tony does scream, sharp and piercing, his entire body snapping backwards as he convulses. Behind his wet eyelids, flashes of white pop across his vision, and he knows that he’s drooling, incapable of swallowing or closing his mouth as his entire body convulses violently. Steve keeps forcing him onto the vibrator – _there you go baby let it happen god you’re fucking beautiful Tony you’re fucking beautiful for me when you come_ – and Tony can’t stop screaming, loud sounds that tear through his throat and ring in his ears. It hurts so fucking much and it makes his balls contract again, another intense burst of pleasure that radiates throughout his lower body until he thinks he’s going to faint from the force of it – _god fucking_ damn _Tony did you come again shit you’re so fucking_ perfect _baby I love you so much_ – and it’s too much and everything hurts and he’s...

Tony’s eyes flutter open, and he has that odd feeling of being unconscious without realising that he had been under. Everything is blurry, and he can distantly feel the dry itchiness on his chest and upper face due to dried come and tears, and the burning arousal is somewhat muted under his skin. Dazed and on the cusp of subspace, floaty and warm, it takes him an embarrassing amount of time before he realises that there’s nothing but a smooth stretch of pale lower abdomen in front of his eyes and that there’s something hot and thick in his mouth, the weeping head of Steve’s rigid prick gently thrusting between his slack lips, but he snaps to attention quickly once he understands what’s happening.

He moans thickly around the head and sucks, somewhat weakly from lingering disorientation, but Steve groans roughly, the thick fingers of one hand caressing the back of Tony’s skull while the other hand’s fingers slip past Tony’s lips, stretching Tony’s mouth impossibly wider. “Hands up, Tony,” Steve rasps, fingers snagging Tony’s lower lip and teeth and starting to force Tony’s mouth even _wider_. Tony’s jaw aches from the unnatural width, saliva starting to pool and drip down the corners of his lips once more, and he hums in approval, his body waking up from his indeterminable amount of time unconscious. His hands go up to grab at Steve’s muscular hips, both for stability and safety, because if Tony’s hands and arms drop like rocks, Steve’ll know if Tony passes out.

Fuck, just the act of lifting his hands up makes Tony’s mind light up and his body shudder all over, because _yes-yes-yes-finally_.

Steve’s fingers slip out of Tony’s mouth and both hands cup the back of Tony’s head to manoeuvre it around. Tony instinctively begins sucking harder to keep his mouth full while subtly moving his body to accompany Steve’s manhandling, and he belatedly realises with a sense of bewildered amusement that he’s sitting in a puddle of lube on a drenched cushion, the vibrator still lodged inside of him and secreting steadily. It’s actually kind of impressive that the reservoir has lasted as long as it has, and that’s yet another tally on the mental scoreboard of Tony’s genius, even if it’s a good indicator that he hasn’t been out long.

“Look at you Tony, stretched wide for me. I love every part of you, but I think your mouth is my favourite part,” Steve says roughly when he’s settled, the height and angle perfect for Steve to gently push his hips into it, his rigid prick slipping further and further into Tony’s mouth and throat with each incremental thrust. He’s deep enough now that Tony’s nasal passage is blocked with every push inside, and while it’s not long enough for the oxygen deprivation to really register, he still _knows_ it’s coming, and Tony sucks and wiggles his tongue and lets the saliva drip down his chin because he wants – no, _needs_ – Steve to lose control. Tony needs it badly, so fucking badly, to feel that magnificent prick forcing itself down Tony’s throat, to feel Steve’s spunk settling in his belly, to feel Steve all around him and inside him until he’s permeated every molecule in Tony’s body, everywhere that Tony is and could ever be. He wants Steve himself to feel overwhelmed, hazy with desire, warm with pleasure of Tony’s easy submission, wants to give every part of himself over until Steve owns him in every way he possibly can, singing through his bloodstream and buzzing in his brain as he becomes his true self, only brought out by Tony’s unwavering trust and acceptance.

Tony moans with delirious arousal and Steve’s hips stutter in response; fingers press into the back of his head and then Steve’s groaning thickly, hips snapping forward hard until Tony’s breathing cuts off entirely, the prick sliding and gliding and _pushing_ even farther. Tony gags around the intrusion and digs his fingernails into Steve’s hips as he urges Steve to go deeper, eyes slipping closed once again, and Steve obliges over a shaky exhale, pressing-pressing-pressing until the last bit of tension in Tony’s throat gives, allowing Steve to pull Tony’s head and upper body forward until Tony’s nose is pressed hard into the smooth expanse at the base of Steve’s prick.

Steve holds him there, solid and sure and throbbing, his unclasped uniform bottoms digging into Tony’s jaw, and Tony’s entire body sinks into it: the security he feels despite the stark contrast of being held down and suffocated on girthy prick; the relaxation as he instinctively falls into calm acceptance in order for Steve to stay lodged for longer without Tony’s body revolting; the intoxicating, floaty hum of pleasure as he descends further into his base, primal, submissive headspace; the indescribable feeling of trust in his hazy brain at the control Steve has over Tony’s very life.

He knows how easily Steve could hurt him in a permanent way, how easy it would be for Steve to hold Tony there as he struggled and fought for air, how easy it would be for Steve to just take Tony’s life if he so chose. He’s a super-soldier with a dark side he keeps locked tight, and he’s so much stronger and powerful than Tony when he’s unarmoured like he is, but the sheer depth of Tony’s trust in Steve is immense and more prevailing than anything he’s ever felt before.

It’s liberating, really. Tony’s been burnt and taken advantage of all his life, thrown round the bend like a party trick, and therefore Tony doesn’t give that trust to anyone. The idea that he’s not incapable of feeling it, that he’s not fundamentally _damaged_ from his shit childhood and subsequent years of being objectified and declared expendable...it’s unfathomable that he can still trust, that he still has the ability to give himself to someone completely and not be hurt for it. And Steve deserves it, without a doubt – he’s a pain in the arse, stubborn, too idealistic, impulsive, incredibly naïve in some ways, and a thousand other things, but he’s the best man that Tony’s ever known regardless. He’s honest and kind, empathetic and humble, and most importantly, Tony’s not _enraptured_ by him. He knows Steve’s not perfect, and he’s not under the impression that Steve’s the pinnacle of evolution despite his fancy serum, which is something not even the Avengers comprehend most of the time let alone the rest of the world. He looks at Steve and sees a faulted, fractured human being and trusts him anyway, or perhaps because of it.

Like Tony’s said before: he doesn’t trust a man without a dark side.

He knows that it’s mutual too, in a way, which is even more magnificent to contemplate. Steve gets the validation that he _doesn’t_ have to be on a pedestal all the time, receives the comfort that he can trust Tony to trust _him_ when he shows his hard and sadistic underbelly, that Steve can be given the reigns of Tony’s very fragile life and be trusted completely to take care of it instead. ‘ _It’s a beautiful thing, to be given that much love and support from you_ ’, Steve has said multiple times before, and there is nothing more satisfying to Tony than both getting what he needs _and_ giving someone else what _they_ need in exchange.

Maybe some people would call Tony insane, but he lives for this. Lives for the living proof that he’s not irreparably broken and unable to trust and love. Lives for the living proof that there is someone out there that can break him to pieces but always puts him back together again. Lives for the living proof that Steve is complete and whole with Tony, beside him and in him and all around him.

Tony’s brain is slow and foggy, body starting to jerk as he tries without vain to get oxygen, and there is nowhere else he’d rather be, choking on Steve’s massive prick with a vibrator in his sloppy arse and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Steve pulls back slowly and groans in the back of his throat when Tony instantly starts coughing and heaving, thick saliva flying from his mouth as he tries to breathe in blessed oxygen. His lungs are burning, heartbeat so fast that it feels like it’s pumping air instead of blood, but he still lurches forward with mindless need, overstretched mouth trying to suck Steve down once more even as he gags up spit between harsh breaths.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Steve whispers, hand going back into Tony’s hair to pull sharply, Tony’s head snapping back. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision of tears and arousal, forced to stare at Steve who looms above him, and then Steve orders quietly, “You keep looking at me, pet, and don’t you dare move, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Tony breathes, voice raw and wet, entire body shaking.

Steve smiles, then steps forward again as his hands fall to his sides. He presses the underside of his wet pick against Tony’s lips, the foreskin pulled back from the flushed head to expose the weeping slit. Tony keeps watching Steve, trapped in that heated blue gaze and desperately trying to quell the urge to sink down on him, and simply allows himself to feel Steve’s prick twitching against his lips, precome wetting Tony’s swollen mouth even more than it already is, and still sucking in loud breaths with an open mouth.

“You really are beautiful like this, Tony,” Steve murmurs, and the soft, almost reverent tone is at clear odds with the intensity of his face. Tony can see that normally-hidden need blatantly expressed, eyes focussed and sharp, teeth bared behind his full lips, tense as a springboard as he fights his urge for just a little bit longer of teasing. Steve continues in that same croon, “The things I want to do to you...it’s almost terrifying how much I want—how much I _love_ you like this. So pretty and soft, so desperate and needy. You’ll let me do anything to you baby, won’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony whimpers, his tongue thick in his mouth and his heart in his throat. “ _Forever_ , yes.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter, face red and sweat gleaming at his hairline, and then he moans shakily, “I can’t—you’re perfect, I can’t take it, I need you so much baby, fuck, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re fucking _mine_ , Tony Stark. You’re _mine_. I need—”

And then Steve’s feeding his prick back into Tony’s wet mouth, big hands cupping Tony’s entire head in a controlling grip, and then Tony’s entire self is consumed as Steve finally takes what he needs.

Tony can’t keep his eyes open any longer, every iota of his focus on giving Steve every bit of pleasure Tony can give him. He sucks and tongues and gags around that pistoning prick as best as he can, his throat making the most wretched of noises, and he can’t breathe. It’s punishing and hard, like iron down his throat, and he fights the urge to retch from pure will alone, even though he can’t stop the convulsions of his throat as his body instinctively tries to dislodge the intrusion. He digs his fingernails into Steve, feeling saliva foam out of his mouth until it’s dripping in globby streams down his chin, and all he can taste is the sharp tang of precome on his tongue.

His head is being jerked into Steve’s hips even as Steve thrusts forward, deep and rough, Tony’s puffy lips hitting Steve’s pubic bone with every thrust inside. He can tell he’s fading, body starting to jerk as his lungs scream for oxygen and his mind starts warring with the need to please both Steve and himself as well as the physical urge to fight for air. There’s a ringing in his ears, but he can still hear Steve’s hoarse voice as if from the end of a long tunnel, saying in a raw jumble, “Fuck, Tony, your throat feels so good around me, like it was made to be fucked by my cock. God, you’re such a good pet, such a good hole to stick my cock in. _Listen_ to you, gagging around me like a good cockslut, taking it like a good boy—” Tony whines weakly, unable to even wiggle his tongue as his body gets weaker and weaker, but the praise mixed in with the degradation is so good, and Tony’s distantly aware that he’s probably going to come from this, completely untouched and unable to get true relief. “—and you’re so _filthy_ , slobbering all over my cock, fuck, _Tony_ , you slut, take it, take my fucking cock, _take it_ you perfect little whore, _take it_ —”

He doesn’t register the tense of Steve’s hips, doesn’t even register that pulses of thick, bitter spunk are flooding his spasming throat as Steve presses as deeply as he can, because his hands are starting to slip, everything faded and slow, heart thudding heavily in his chest and feeling like he’s falling. Everything is muted – Steve’s long, drawn out moan, the pounding in Tony’s ears, the harsh sounds of Tony being suffocated by prick – and he can’t swallow the pulses of come – every bit of it both dripping deep down his throat and overflowing until it’s mixing with the mess of saliva and sweat on his face – and he doesn’t realise that Steve’s pulling out to spurt the last pulses over the mess already on Tony’s face. For a moment, Tony can’t inhale, white spots flashing behind his heavy eyelids and throat clogged with thick spunk, and he hears himself cry out internally _breathe!_ before his body kicks into gear.

He bowls over – the all but forgotten vibrator shifts roughly in him, gliding against his too-sensitive prostate with a spark of pleasure-pain up his spine – and heaves frantically, spunk flying from his aching throat with each deep, wracking cough. The only thing that keeps him upright is Steve’s hands, pushing Tony’s face into his still rock-hard prick and grinding once more against his sodden facial hair and smooth, dripping cheeks. He can hear a distant moan through the fluttering heartbeat rushing through his ears, and he hacks up come, his entire body throbbing and overheated. He can feel himself coming back up from near-unconsciousness, sweat dripping down his body, and his lips feel puffy and raw, but despite his dizzy haze, he still can’t help the delirious urge to turn his head, weakly mouthing at Steve’s prick because he still wants it, still _needs_ it, and he knows that Steve does too.

“Good boy,” Steve whispers once Tony’s airway is clear enough that he’s breathing somewhat normally, grinding harder against Tony’s face, and then he steps back abruptly, one hand leaving Tony’s heavy head so he can grasp the root of his prick. “Open your sloppy mouth, baby,” he breathes, sounding just as gone as Tony is, and Tony’s head rolls forward once before he manages to straighten himself out, opening his mouth as ordered and sticking out his tongue for good measure. He expects that prick to push into his mouth hard, wants it more than anything, but instead Steve groans and starts slapping Tony’s tongue with the underside of his head, the tip grazing Tony’s upper lip with every movement. Tony breathes out a feeble moan, then lets out another weak noise when Steve starts slapping his face with his prick, little stinging hits on his cheeks. “Look at you, Tony,” Steve practically growls, so low that Tony can feel it as much as hear it. “You’re all red and purple, covered in my come and your own tears like a common whore, and you love it so much that you need me to give you more. Do you need to give me more, baby?”

Tony swallows, tasting nothing but bitter come and his saliva so thick in his mouth, and replies in a wrecked, unrecognisable slur, “Yes sir.” He has to swallow again, throat aching and abraded, and he continues in the same ruined slur, “Please, Steve. _Please_.”

Steve hits him twice in quick succession with his prick, once on each damp cheek, and then he’s feeding his prick back into Tony’s mouth, not even bothering with letting Tony’s raw throat reacclimate to the intrusion; he simply shoves all the way in fast and begins thrusting, shallow and deep, painful and glorious. Tony can’t help but struggle almost immediately, because Steve had been too quick for Tony to take a full breath, and his body fights more fiercely this time, despite his mind sinking even lower, that blessed edge of subspace so fucking close, _so fucking close_. Every jerk makes the vibrator lodged in his arse move, a burst of agonising pleasure sparking down his stiff and sore legs all the way up his spine, and Steve just holds him in place regardless, every shallow thrust down his throat too much, too much, never fucking enough. Tony slips quickly down, everything muting quick and mercilessly, and there’s nothing Tony can do but take it, head kept in place by superhuman strength alone.

The vibrator turning on mid-thrust makes Tony scream around Steve’s prick, the sound garbled but shrill and taking out the majority of his remaining oxygen, and he barely has the time to tense his trembling thighs in a desperate attempt to get away before Steve’s forcing Tony’s head to the base of his prick, rolling his hips almost violently against Tony’s face so he can reach for Tony’s back. A large hand presses him down with inhuman strength, and Tony can’t do anything but suffer the sensations: his hips bucking incrementally on the vibrator, which only increases the delicious agony in his insides and drives him to the brink of orgasm; the darkness enveloping his entire body once more, making him heavy and slow; the ruthless grind of Steve’s pelvis against his face, balls heavy and hot against his chin; the warm globs of thick saliva as it foams out of the corners of his mouth and drips; the harsh convulsions as his body and brain begin to shut down, making his body overheat and his face feel swollen.

Steve abruptly pulls out until just the head’s inside and then there’s a flood of bitter spunk; Tony’s throat clicks painfully before the come starts slipping down his throat, Tony drowning on it even as his brain belatedly realises that he’s free. Tony’s coughing and gagging and choking, trying in vain to breathe despite the torrent flooding his mouth and burning through his nose, and Steve just keeps coming, too much of it, holding Tony’s cheeks and jaw in a punishing grip to keep his mouth in a solid seal around Steve’s prick. Tony convulses, weak and pathetic, and then his eyes roll back into his head when he finally orgasms, a weak and painful thing in his throbbing balls, consciousness slipping away faster and faster an—

Steve slaps him across the face, not gently but not hard enough to bruise, then smacks him once on the back, and Tony’s eyes bulge open, throat and stomach rolling as he heaves and splutters. His overheated, aching body lurches, trying to sick up, but mercifully there’s nothing but the burn of bile in the back of his throat, stinging his raw windpipe but not coming up. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s sicked up after all, but he hates it because Steve always pauses their play when it happens to clean Tony up, and then that errant thought is gone, lost in the haze of endorphins from his fruitless orgasm right at the brink of unconsciousness. _There’s no better orgasm than one right as you pass out_ , Tony’s always said, and he giggles breathlessly through the coughing without meaning to, swaying with his forehead against Steve’s damp left hip and a mixture of spunk and thick spit still dripping down his chin. Even the pitiful giggle hurts like a bitch, and his dopey grin widens with deep satisfaction, a burst of happiness making his already-tender chest go tight.

The vibrations in the toy stop with a few incomprehensible words from Steve and Tony sighs in relief, going boneless against the chair from relief. There’s a long moment where Steve traces Tony’s puffy, damp lips with his thumb, feeling Tony’s slowly regulating breathing, before he hears Steve ask distantly, “Tony, are you under?” Tony giggles again, oddly amused by the question, before he weakly shakes his head; he’s actually not in subspace, though he feels really fucking close still, and he shakes his head again to emphasise his internal thoughts, throat too raw and painful to even think about attempting speech. “Are you sure you’re not under?” he hears Steve repeat, and Tony raises a shaky, feeble arm so he can tap at Steve’s muscular thigh, knowing that Steve’s sharp mind will read it as is: Morse code that translates to ‘ _im fuckin awesome i love you so much_ ’.

Steve laughs.

“As much as I like you coherent,” Steve says, stepping close and crouching as he grasps Tony’s hips solidly, “I’d prefer you incoherent.” There’s a beat of silence, Steve pressing a lingering kiss against Tony’s temple, and then Tony’s sense of balance goes, Steve lifting him up easily off the chair. The vibrator slides out of him – Tony twitches with a hiss when it glides against his sore, swollen prostate, more painful than anything – and then he’s being cradled in Steve’s arms.

Tony feels unbalanced but he doesn’t have the strength or lucidity to wrap his legs around Steve’s hips as he would normally; instead, he just dangles there, held up by Steve’s arms around his waist, and allows Steve to walk him to the bed, his face buried in Steve’s neck. Steve lowers him down to the firm bedding after one arm disconnects to rip off the bedclothes, and everything’s so deliberately gentle that Tony knows he’s about to get reamed. His hole flutters at the thought, incredibly sore and dripping lube, but he can’t wait to have Steve’s prick stuffed inside him regardless, battering his arse like a machine and filling him with spunk. He wants it, so fucking much, and he whines when Steve steps away, disconnecting their bodies.

Steve’s gone for what feels like an hour in Tony’s mind, everything blurred and stretched, but Tony can’t open his eyes to follow Steve’s movements. He knows that Steve’s not done with him yet – honestly, it seems like he never gets tired of Tony’s body and submission, and there’s something very validating about that – so he musters up his patience. It’s easier when he’s like this (even though his prick is still rock-hard from the ring and his balls are throbbing to release) and he just sinks into it, knowing that Steve’s going to take care of him in the best way, the only way that really allows Tony to be truly satisfied.

Then there’s a slight decompression of the bed and Tony doesn’t even have the chance to smile in anticipatory greeting before Steve’s hot mouth swallows his prick.

Tony gasps and bucks upward, but then it’s gone with a harsh suck, Steve slapping his prick out of the way. Tony hisses again, shuddering, and then Steve’s yanking his legs up, a slippery object pressing against his hole. It slides in easily, the lube from the vibrator still slick inside of him, and settles directly against his prostate, quickly turning on to assault his nerves. Tony cries out and bucks again, the prostate massager shifting inside of him, and he can feel the arm on the outside of the toy solidly pressing into his perineum. Tony wants to sob from it all, but he’s too distracted by the movement of Steve’s body, manipulating Tony’s heavy limbs and moving over Tony’s prone form, holding him down once he’s settled. Steve’s shins press against Tony’s arms above his head, restraining Tony with his weight, and Tony can feel the drip of precome from Steve’s prick against his face. He tries to lift his head up to get his mouth on Steve – because _fuck_ , he knows what’s coming next, and _yes-fuck-yes_ – but Steve just chuckles darkly and clucks his tongue chidingly, hips moving to keep Tony’s mouth away.

“ _Please_ ,” Tony whispers, his voice practically non-existent and utterly ruined, and then he can’t speak anymore because Steve’s mouth is back on his prick, tongue swiping at the ring and moaning in the back of his throat.

Steve’s hands on his hips keep him from moving, and Tony suffers deliriously, the sounds tearing through his destroyed throat practically foreign to his ears. He feels his balls tighten once again, and he can’t come again, he _can’t_ , he’ll fucking _die_ , he’s going to rip apart from the strain of it, he’s too wrecked and it hurts, it’s so good, too much, he _can’t_ , fucking _can’t_. “ _Steve!_ ” he cries out brokenly, vocal folds shrieking in pain from the volume of it, and he’s _so close-right there-there-he’s_ —

He’s distantly aware of a hand leaving his hip, and then Steve’s feeding his prick back into Tony’s mouth, muffling his helpless screams. Steve fucks hard and shallow into his mouth, shoving himself deep into Tony’s raw throat half a dozen times before his mouth is flooded with come again, Steve moaning around Tony’s prick as he erratically fucks through his orgasm. Tony’s body tenses, releases, and he chokes on the flood of come before he’s snapping as well, arching as best he can against Steve’s weight and feeling so fucking gone that his brain’s nothing but mush, a constant repeat of _yesyesyes_ and _cantbreathe_ and _iloveyou_.

He’s so exhausted and sore, every molecule in pain from the constant unfulfilling orgasms and being throat-fucked within an inch of his life, literally and metaphorically. The prick in his mouth – _still_ hard and throbbing – slips out just enough for Tony’s nasal passage to clear, and Tony’s is hacking and choking past the come that he’s trying desperately to swallow, half of it spluttering out with globs of thick saliva around the erection and through his nose, burning all the way through. He can hear Steve moaning as Tony gags and chokes and cries out – it probably feels awesome around his prick – but all he can do is feel the burn of his throat and nose, the thick fluids coating his face and neck, the heavy balls on his forehead, the maddening suckles of Steve’s mouth around Tony’s own prick in combination with the painful vibrations against his prostate, the exhaustion in every bit of his body.

Steve pulls out all the way and sits up easily, keeping his weight on his knees so he doesn’t crush Tony’s arms, and Tony coughs out the last bits of come and spit pooled in his mouth as his lower half immediately starts feebly thrashing. He’s so slick and loose that the prostate massager does slip out, and Tony lets out a harsh whine with the immediate relief of it, almost feeling numb inside from the constant assault being extinguished. It buzzes against the flesh of his arse and Steve bends down lightning-fast to grasp it, turning it off and tossing it off the bed absently.

Then he sits back up, shins still trapping Tony’s arms above his head, and then weasels a hand under Tony’s upper back, lifting him up easily and putting a stuffed pillow underneath his shoulders. It’s an odd angle due to the fluff of the pillow but comfortable, and Tony sinks back into it, head tilted back along the edge as his shoulders overextend. He looks up through heavy eyelids and blurry vision, knowing that he’s an absolute mess right now – come and spit all over his face, lips puffy and chapped, olive skin a fading purple-red, eyes bloodshot and glassy, broken blood vessels all over his skin – but not giving a flying fuck. He’s flying with endorphins and soaring from the pure heat he can see in Steve’s face, and being the focus of that much intensity is staggering, a surge of hot pleasure igniting in his chest.

He loves this abuse, loves the pain and the rawness of his throat, but knowing that it’s pleasing Steve, seeing it in every line and angle of that unbearably handsome face...it’s overwhelming. Simply overwhelming. He could look at Steve for the rest of his life like this and die a happy man, and he feels his eyes prickle at the surge of love he feels for Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, Tony,” Steve whispers, eyes glazed and so fucking penetrating that it’s like a kick to the chest. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t believe you’re real.”

Because he knows he won’t be able to speak, not anymore, Tony beams, a bit dopey and a lot exhausted, and honestly it hurts to even do that, his jaw and lips so achy from taking Steve’s prick. He probably looks silly but he doesn’t care, because those words are magnificent even without the endorphin rush or the blur of subspace that’s creeping at the edges of his psyche. He can feel warm trails creeping slowly down his tacky, filthy face, his emotions all over the place and so overwhelmed, and he didn’t know it was possible to be this happy.

Then Steve touches the tears on Tony’s face, lifts his hands, licks the salt and come off his fingers, and breathes, “I hope you’re ready for me, Tony.”

He circles his fingers behind Tony’s collar, his big hands circling the entirety of Tony’s neck, and lifts. Tony’s head falls back even more until only the crown of his head is touching the edge of the pillow, shoulders still flat against the cushion and overextending further. The unnatural angle makes the collar tighten deliciously around his neck, his breaths short and wheezy as his head almost instantly goes light from decreased blood-flow, and Tony’s heart is already pounding, because he knows that this is the one that’s going to hurt, the one that’s going to break him. The surge of adrenaline is heady and deep, especially when he feels Steve manoeuvre himself until the head of his prick is pressed against Tony’s open mouth, wet and burning with heat. He wants to beg for it, wants to suck it down his aching throat and worship it, but his vocal folds are too raw for speech and he hasn’t the energy to do more than open his mouth even wider, jaw creaking from the strain.

“So sore and fucked out and you still need it, don’t you?” Steve asks almost lightly, letting the slick head of his prick trace Tony’s puffy mouth, surprisingly accurate despite not being supported by a hand. Tony’s tongue is too fatigued to do much more than weakly dip out, too raw to really get much taste, and certainly not aggressive enough to follow the head in an effort to get Steve in his mouth, but he makes a feeble effort anyway. Steve continues in that same light, almost conversational tone, “This time I’m going to watch you take me all pretty, Tony. I’m going to watch your face _slowly_ go red as I push my dick into your throat, deeper and deeper and _deeper_ , until I can see the cartilage bulge out around me and the collar every time I push inside and your sweet lips are pressed to the root of me. I’m going to savour it, baby, savour the feeling of your throat rippling around me, trying to get me deeper even as you try to get me out so you can breathe, but I know you don’t want me to stop. If it was up to you, I’d spend the rest of my life lodged into that perfect hole of yours, taking you and owning you and making you hurt, because that’s what you’re good for, isn’t it? You love being my bitch, don’t you?”

Tony feels fucking delirious and wild, and the adrenaline, as well as Steve’s words, are making his entire body tingle. “ _Yes_ ,” Tony manages faintly against the foreskin of Steve’s prick, even though it hurts to speak and sounds utterly wrecked, and it’s even harder with the collar digging into his neck.

“I am going to give you everything you want, Tony,” Steve croons, thumbs slipping under the already-tight collar in the front and making Tony have to work hard to breathe, every inhale a wheezing sound and not delivering enough oxygen to his feverish body. Not that he’s going to be getting a good breath at all anyway, soon enough. “Hands up, pet.”

Tony’s shaky and fatigued hands raise up, his upper arms still trapped by Steve’s shins, and he places his palms flat against Steve’s muscular thighs, pressing as hard as he can. He already feels faint from oxygen deprivation, and he can’t help the sudden flash of tentative hope that Steve will go further than he has been.

Steve can pop off at any time he really wants to due to impeccable control over his bodily responses – his record with Tony is eleven seconds to orgasm at the shortest and two hours, forty-eight minutes at the longest, which makes both quickies and marathons a breeze – so the second Tony gets close to unconsciousness, Steve can actively choose to let himself come in Tony’s mouth before backing off or simply pull out. Ultimately, Steve has never pushed Tony into full, unquestionable unconsciousness with oral before; ‘ _It’s too dangerous_ ,’ Steve always says, and puts his foot down hard even when Tony argues.

And _boy_ does Tony argue. The collar’s sensors monitor his heart rate, blood pressure, sweat production, muscle fatigue, and a multitude of other things, and FRIDAY’s always a silent presence with her advanced sensors too. The collar and FRIDAY both link up to the earpiece that Steve always wears during scenes, regardless of whether they’re doing breathplay or not (though they usually are in some manner), and so the _second_ a sensor reads that Tony’s approaching injury or unconsciousness during play, Steve knows about it. Plus Steve has heightened senses, not to mention a really good observational study of Tony over years knowing each other, so he usually can tell if something’s becoming too much before even the sensors or FRIDAY pick up on it. All of those things combined is a security blanket that eliminates the most dangerous possibility when messing with asphyxiation: not knowing or realising that a submissive is unconscious and continuing the dangerous activity to the point of no return.

He understands why Steve’s non-negotiable about unconsciousness during play, of course, especially with breathplay – it only takes a moment for something to go wrong, and as much as Steve likes to hurt and abuse and torture, he still is a good man who only has Tony’s best interests and safety at heart. It would kill Steve to accidentally go _too far_ , to be responsible for Tony’s irreparable harm or even death, and Tony can’t fault him for that. It’s really sweet actually, albeit in a rather non-traditional manner considering that he’s already hurting and abusing and torturing Tony’s body during play.

But still. Tony _loves_ it, loves the idea of Steve being so carried away that he takes even Tony’s consciousness away from him, loves the idea of Steve fucking his throat into oblivion. Tony’s never passed out during play with Steve before, because Steve always pulls back at the last second, but Tony’s done it loads of times in his long history in the BDSM scene and he gets off on it so hard. Passing out from asphyxiation, _particularly_ right at orgasm, is singularly the most indescribable experience he’s ever had during sex, and he’s spent the last _year_ arguing his case for it. He wants to experience that with someone that he loves for once (because in the past, he’s always done it with questionable people and that’s not safe or sane in the slightest, he knows), and besides, he knows Steve wants it just as much as Tony does.

After all, every time they’ve argued about it, Steve’s had to whip out his prick and pull one out until the unbearable need tapers off enough for him to continue the argument with a clearer head, and he usually has to do it a few more times before he cuts off the conversation entirely and simply Dominates the fuck out of Tony in other ways, the need too overwhelming to contain any longer with simple masturbation.

But this? This is different.

Steve’s never, not once, choked him out _before_ sticking his prick into Tony’s mouth, because he always wants Tony to at least catch his breath back before Steve continues fucking into him, but more than that, Steve had said ‘ _want_ ’, not ‘ _need_ ’. It might not seem like the biggest deal to anyone, but it’s a _big_ fucking deal for Steve, who’s very careful with the words he says both privately and publicly. Tony needs to be used and hurt and degraded, yes, because he’s hardwired that way, but Steve explicitly saying that he’s going to give Tony _everything he wants_ , when Tony’s ‘wants’ pretty much consist of only _asphyxiation to unconsciousness_ and _being faux-forced into unbelievably rough sex by a lot of different people while Steve directs them before fucking his gaping and leaking hole_?

Well.

 _Well_.

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony rasps out despite his raw throat, despite his exhaustion, despite the collar digging into his neck, despite the fact that speaking takes away more of his dwindling oxygen supply. “ _Please, Steve..._ please _._ ”

The sound that comes out of Steve’s own throat can only be described as a whimper, and even through Tony’s blurry vision, he can see Steve swallow thickly before he says in a breathless rasp, “You...you keep your _fucking_ hands up, Tony, do you understand me?”

Tony sucks in a meagre inhale past the constriction around his neck and breathes out in a reedy croak, “ _Yes_.” He channels ever gram of strength he has, fighting past the exhaustion and the disorientation, pushing through the heady swirl of adrenaline and blazing arousal, and clenches his hands hard against Steve’s hips, digging his fingernails into taut, sweaty skin for purchase. He’s going to hold on until he can’t anymore, because Steve’s _doing it_ , carefully manoeuvring himself until the head of his prick slips past Tony’s open lips, the rest of his engorged length sliding in-in- _in_.

It’s a gentle glide inside, the harsh angle of Tony’s head ensuring that it’s a seamless entry, and Steve groans, long and thick and delirious. His thumbs press lightly into Tony’s neck, looped around his own Adam’s apple, and groans again when Tony can’t help but start choking from both the press of his digits and the intrusion of his prick, cutting off all possibility of air. Tony tries his damndest to jerk Steve forward despite the burn in his throat, wanting every last millimetre inside as fast as possible, but Steve is too strong, making it drag on and on until _finally_ Steve’s balls are pressed against Tony’s forehead, his erection fully lodged down his throat.

Tony tries to stay calm and docile, wanting to conserve his strength so this experience will last longer, but he’s too desperate for air, too desperate to feel Steve fuck him past consciousness, too fucking desperate for _everything_. He tenses despite himself, throat convulsing with raw gagging sounds, and his lungs are already burning, upper body twitching in a frantic attempt to get air. His heart is pounding, a shrill sound ringing in his ears, and tears pour down his temples as he finally closes his eyes, shaking uncontrollably and so lightheaded that he can’t think properly. His balls are fucking painful now, prick leaking precome in a steady stream against his hip, and cock and ball ring or not, he’s coming anyway, he knows he is.

Steve’s thumbs caress Tony’s neck underneath the already-tight collar, and Tony hears him say distantly, “God, Tony, how your throat bulges and ripples around me. Fuck, you’re such a good pet, such a good bitch, you’re so _good_ for me, fuck, so _perfect_ , I need you _so much_ , and I want everything, I _need_ —”

And then Steve’s fucking into him, hard and powerful and mercilessly, groans and moans mixing with the wet sounds of Tony’s throat, fucking _reaming_ him like a machine. His balls slap Tony’s forehead with dull sounds that Tony can barely hear, and Steve’s hands are tightening around his neck, choking him outside and in. Tony’s head is hot and heavy, throbbing in time with his frantic heartbeat, and he’s suffocating, the trashing of his exhausted body getting weaker and weaker. It’s so _wet_ , his own foaming saliva dripping down his face until his eyelids are coated with it, mixing with the drying come and copious tears that stream from his eyes. Everything is overheated and his throat is on _fire_ , the speed of Steve’s thrusts almost unreal as he fucks and fucks and _fucks_.

Everything gets slower, like he’s swimming blind in molasses, and it’s beautiful how calm his mind is despite his near-manic arousal and the overwhelming need to breathe. He can hear Steve moaning out words – _fuck you’re so good so perfect your hole is perfect take my fucking dick tony take it you’re perfect when you choke around me fuck take it you bitch take it take it **take it** _– as if from miles away, and then even that’s gone, the ringing in his ears exchanged for the muted, heavy thud of his heart. He feels light and floaty, unable to feel anything but the warmth surrounding him and the bright thrum of desire in his groin, and he knows that he’s fading, oh so slowly, so lovely and easy and perfect even as his entire body seizes, vicious and harsh.

He barely registers Steve’s hands moving from his throat, barely registers the sudden rush of molten heat in his prick and balls, but he does feel the hand on his prick, pulling hard and almost cruelly, and he does feel his convulsing body arch with a snap as he comes violently, spilling everywhere as he _finally_ goes over, oh _God_ , he’s coming and coming and _fuckfuck **fuck** yes god **yes** he’s gone he’s fucking **gon**_ —

The last thing he registers as he slips into blessed, peaceful darkness is the vague markings of hot spunk spurting on his face, his mind already floating into the glorious high of subspace.

* * *

Tony feels the prick battering his insides first.

It takes him a long time to realise what’s going on, that Steve’s drilling into him like a machine and grinding against his prostate with every punishing thrust, and it takes him even longer to wake up enough to realise that there’s more going on than just that. He can feel the tight ropes digging into his arms, the flesh below his elbows tied to the opposite arm’s wrists, and identical ropes tying his bound arms to his bare chest. He can feel Steve’s hands holding onto his linked arms like handlebars, jerking Tony’s aching and boneless body back hard onto his prick like a marionette on a string, his shoulders saved from being yanked out of socket because they’re locked against his back with minimal give. It abrades and chafes all over, though it’s not tight enough to break skin or cut off circulation, and it’s a gloriously painful complement to the tension in his upper body and the grind of Steve’s prick against his prostate, making his prick – hard, surprisingly hard actually, and he wonders how long he’s been unconscious if he’s hard again after that _monumental_ orgasm earlier – pulse with desire.

It’s trapped against the damp mattress hard, his back bowed backwards due to Steve’s hard grip on his arms, and Tony’s rutting against it without any effort on his own. With every powerful thrust into Tony, Steve’s pushing him up towards the headboard, and then immediately jerking him back by the arms, and there’s nothing Tony can do to stop his hips from being ground against the mattress from the back-and-forth even if he wanted to – and he very much _doesn’t_ want to because it hurts so good, his prick too sensitive and achy from being confined in a ring for so long.

His arse is smarting, like his already-sore cheeks had been spanked again while unconscious (even though it’s probably just from Steve’s pelvis slamming into him), and his insides feel rubbed raw. It’s uncomfortable and painful because of the rough action it had and currently _is_ suffering through, but Tony’s still loose and sloppy, Steve’s prick gliding into him brutally with a lewd squelch. He can feel dampness all over his arse and spread thighs, and he wonders how much of it is lube and how much of it is Steve’s spunk, wonders how many times Steve had filled him up, over and over again while Tony had been under.

 _God_ , the thought of that, and Tony finally moans, more of a weak rattle than anything, and drool trickles out of his lax mouth in a steady stream.

The feeble sound brings his throat to the front of his attention next. His throat feels swollen and feverish, tongue thick and numb behind puffy lips, and his entire neck and jaw aches with a dull throb. He’s going to have some ridiculous fucking bruises that he’ll stare at dopily in the mirror, that’s for sure, and it’s probably going to be a nightmare to cover up. He wants to giggle hysterically at the wayward thought but his throat just clicks and spasms instead, making Tony shudder all over because _fuck_ , he’s wasted isn’t he, fucked hard from one end and now being fucked hard from the other. The agony in his throat and face is magnificent in combination with the burn in his raw arse, the abrasive rope digging into his arms and chest, the press of the warm collar that’s still wrapped around his most likely bruised neck, the jingle of his pet tag from the jolting movements of his helpless body, the soreness of his arse-cheeks from his spanking and Steve’s pelvic bone, the punishing grind and fuck of Steve’s pistoning hips inside him and against his too-sensitive prostate.

He tries to speak again but all that comes out is another loud click and an answering cough, and then Steve’s ramming into him so fucking hard that Tony can’t help but scream soundlessly as his body tightens up, coiling into an impending orgasm. Steve moans as Tony’s loose hole obviously tightens around his prick, thick and long and desperate, and then says in a feverish slur with a twinge of exhaustion in it, “I’ve been fucking your pretty arse for over an hour, pet, filling your slutty hole with my come over and over again until it’s brimming with it, and you just _laid_ there, taking it like the good little bitch you are. You’re so sloppy and wet, baby, so loose around me, sucking me in even when you’re not awake to know it, and it just shows how much you need me, how you were _born_ to take my dick, because it just lets me in so _easy_. This is what you’re good for, pet, all you’re good for, sucking me in like a whore for my cock, and I bet it hurts, doesn’t it? Does my dick hurt your sloppy hole, bitch?”

Tony wheezes in a breath, cheek damp from saliva and sweat and itchy with dried come, and he tries to answer but he can’t manage to get words out, only a rattling sound that’s deliciously painful.

“I know it hurts pet, I _know_ ,” Steve gasps, sounding drunk and ramming into Tony even _harder_ , impossibly hard, too fucking hard, and Tony’s right on the edge. One hand leaves his arms and squeezes underneath Tony’s stomach until he’s gripping Tony’s rock-hard prick, squeezing it hard around the head. He doesn’t even have to move his fist, Steve’s frantic fucking and jerking Tony’s body back doing that for him, and then Steve continues feverishly, “So good for me, loved suffocating you on my dick, feeling you spasm around me as you passed out, _God_ , so fucking good, your throat just _convulsing_ around my dick even as you went boneless and slack, _fuck_ , you depraved little _bitch_ , I love you _so much_ and I will spend the rest of my _life_ proving that to you baby, you’re _mine_ , Tony Stark and I’m _yours_ —”

Tony’s entire mind snaps as he lurches, and while the orgasm isn’t as earth-shattering as the one before, it still knocks the air out of his chest because _shit_ , Steve’s _words_ , and he lets out a rasping, rattling sob of pleasure and pure happiness, teeth bared in a painfully ecstatic grimace as he comes and comes and _comes_ , little weak spurts of spunk from his throbbing balls and through his aching prick. Steve’s hand on Tony’s arm gets ungodly tight, bruising and sharply painful, and then he’s all but sobbing in unison with Tony, snapping his hips in as deep as he can get so he can _grind_ into Tony hard, his prick twitching and flooding Tony’s raw arse with come for the umpteenth time. Steve all but collapses on top of him as he pumps Tony full of spunk in long spurts, their bodies sliding together from the sweat coating their skin and crushing Tony’s arms between them. Tony can feel Steve’s shudders as he cries out ceaselessly against Tony’s damp neck, loud and unashamed in his pleasure, and then everything in Tony’s world goes soft again, light and floaty and easy and beautiful, the pain and discomfort fading underneath the airy cloud of a natural, magnificent high.

He drifts in a mindless, giddy haze, distantly aware of Steve panting harshly against his neck as he _finally_ starts going soft inside Tony. The solid weight is grounding against the euphoric high, warm against the shivers that make Tony’s entire body vibrate, and he sighs dreamily, barely feeling the burn of his throat from the effort. He feels like he could fall asleep again, dazed and blissful, and he doesn’t fight it, dozing lightly even as he vaguely registers Steve pushing away just enough to undo his binds. His limbs are heavy and uncooperative when Steve tests the movement of Tony’s shoulders, but he doesn’t mind, sighing again with a sleepy, jagged exhale as Steve begins massaging the sore muscles of his shoulders, arms, and back. He feels so heavy, yet so unbelievably light, and as he slowly drifts closer to an exhausted, sated sleep, he can’t help but marvel dizzily at the juxtaposition.

Tony dozes and soars until everything starts creeping back in gradually: first the ragged pain in his throat every time he tries to swallow; then the dull, deep ache of a vigorous workout and constant tension in his muscles and ligaments; the twinge in his arse from the brutal fuck from both vibrator and especially Steve; the uncomfortable feeling of dried fluids on his body, even though he’s pretty sure that Steve mopped him up as soon as Tony had fallen asleep, that will only go away after a long and relaxing bath; the feeling of being pressed into the mattress, face turned to the side for air but Steve’s body enveloping him in heat and closeness as he lays half on top of Tony’s body; the soft stroke of Steve’s fingertips on his left arm, a titillating sensation that makes gooseflesh ripple all over his skin. He smacks his lips tiredly against the pillow, the fabric slightly damp from drying saliva that had probably trickled out of Tony’s mouth in his stoned daze, and wants to hum or speak, but can’t manage more than a raspy exhale.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his hair, pressing a soft kiss against his scalp. “How’re you feeling?”

He braces himself for the burn in his throat, then swallows thickly before he manages to grind out in a thin, low rasp, “Thank you.”

Steve doesn’t respond for a long moment, just running his fingers down Tony’s arm and breathing into his hair, and then he murmurs, “You’re going to have to call in sick for at least a few days, you know. You’re pretty trashed.”

Tony smiles and then breathes out with just enough air to audibly make words but not engage his vocal folds, “I know.” It’s soft and almost incomprehensible, but Steve’s hearing is sharp, and Tony can feel an answering smile curve against his scalp. Then, despite the easy buzz of chemicals blurring his thoughts and making him woozy, he whispers the question he’s been hazily pondering since consciousness had returned to him: “Why did you change your mind?”

Another stretch of silence, and finally Steve sighs and says, “A few reasons, really. It’s always been in the back of my head since the first time we talked about it, and I just...you usually drop pretty quick after a few rounds, especially if I fuck your face into the mattress like I did, but you still weren’t dropping. I could’ve kept going – you would’ve dropped eventually I suppose – but all I could think was that I hadn’t seen you in months, and both of us were too strung up and needed to let go, and I really just wanted to _break_ you, Tony. I really, really did, and the idea of breaking you like that is something I’ve been fantasising about since before we even started doing this together, regardless of what you might believe. I was just so scared, and honestly, I’m _still_ scared of it. I can’t promise that we’ll do that often, because despite all your fancy technology I could still really hurt you like that, but it was the most amazing thing we’ve ever done together and I am so indescribably happy that you’ve given me that.”

Tony feels tight and overwhelmed, and he could blame some of it on the high that’s wrecking his emotions, but what’s even the point of assigning blame when he doesn’t have anything to hide from Steve in private like this anyway? Instead, he lets it all pour out of him as he cries weakly, a stupid smile on his face and not even the slightest bit embarrassed or ashamed of it. Steve just weasels his arms around Tony’s prone body and buries his face in Tony’s hair, murmuring soft words of comfort and praise even though Tony can’t take in all the way but understands regardless.

And when he’s done, feeling less stoned and more in love with Steve Rogers than he ever has been before, when Steve’s lifted him up and carried him to the bathroom for a hot and relaxing bath, when the sheets are stripped and they’re once again cocooned in clean bedding and bare skin, all he can do is feel and exist and _love_.

“I love you,” Tony whispers against the solid expanse of Steve’s muscular chest, and when Steve says it back, it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to see the art-only post by PjCole!](https://pjcole.dreamwidth.org/2264.html) Show some love!


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